After All
by sarapals with past50
Summary: We know where the finale of the series left Sara and Grissom. What happened next? Where did the boat take them? What happened from the time Sara got the video until she found Grissom? And what happened after the sail into the sunset?
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Since the CSI finale, we've had a developing-follow-up story. Here's the first chapter.**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 1**

 _Well, here we are again_ _  
_ _I guess it must be fate_ _  
_ _We've tried it on our own_ _  
_ _But deep inside we've known_ _  
_ _We'd be back to set things straight…(with thanks to Cher!)_

Forty-four hours, nearly two days. Suddenly, the lab seemed quiet.

Sara Sidle was so accustomed to the working sounds of the lab that she was able to block the murmuring voices, the clicks and dings of machines, the shuffle and whisper of footsteps to hear nothing but her own thoughts.

At last, she was alone. Finally, she could relinquish the hold on her emotions she had managed to maintain since Ecklie had asked for the phone number of her ex-husband. The sudden release flowed through her body, and for a moment, the tightness in her chest lightened. Taking a deep breath, she could believe the case had been like any other.

But then her thoughts returned and the anguish, the admission, twice, that she still loves Gil Grissom, flooded her entire body. Her hands moved to the stack of papers on the desk. For a while—perhaps as long as several hours—she had stepped back in time to the once familiarity of working by his side.

She almost smiled, but a smile would have brought tears; it was the bees, she thought. Finding him talking to bees had brought a smile to her face and then he had said how he missed working with her. They had set up the scent bees in a peaceful meadow after one phone call had provided what was needed and patiently he had showed her what to do—let her paint the bees, explained how the trained bees worked and detected human scent. For the first time since Grissom's arrival—no, for the first time in years—she'd felt alive, waking her senses as only he could do.

She knew he had wanted to talk; she had felt his eyes, heard the slight sounds of his restless movements. Managing to blink away the sudden wetness in her eyes before the first bee had returned, she deliberately kept her face away from his. It was as if he had never been gone—but she knew he'd leave again. She had been replaced in his life—by solitary life on a boat, by a woman who had moved from 'friend' to—Sara didn't want to think of Heather Kessler as her ex-husband's lover but what else could the woman be for him to return to Vegas to convince others of her innocence.

Sighing, her hand came to her face; fingers wiped across her eyes. In that moment, she remembered.

"Maybe we should get married" had surprised her. It had been another beautiful day, dressed in similar protective garb, studying colony collapse when she'd found him. She'd freaked at his proposal; they had never talked about marriage.

Now, she turned her hand and looked at her palm remembering how he'd taken her hand to remove the stinger.

Another deep breath as she closed her eyes to memories.

He was gone; she'd known he had returned to Vegas to help Heather Kessler. Help or protect her. Sara would never understand the friendship between the two but obviously, their friendship had moved to another level.

Once, she knew he had loved her—it was her fault they had divorced. She'd returned to Vegas—the dog, the house, both mothers needed one of them near; the job—the money, the insurance, the security of it had claimed her time—and he had found another life—going from one project to another until one day, he had said she needed to be free—she'd be better off without him.

Tears did well in her eyes at the remembrance of those words. There was no explanation, no clarification—nothing when the official papers arrived with his signature. She had known it was her fault. If she had gone with him, if she'd met him in those far-away places, if she had been a better person—if—if—if—a thousand 'ifs' and all went back to the pattern of her life.

Her parents drank too much and fought too often to love her; her father did not love her enough to keep her safe. Her mother had killed her father, not because of love or protection but in a drunken rage. As a child, Sara remembered thinking no one loved her because her mother was a murderer; as an adult, she had rebuffed others, learned to live a private life, remaining a loner until she had met Gil Grissom.

Her world had changed when, for no apparent reason, the man at the lecture had turned to her for a question and, when their eyes connected, there was—if not a lightning bolt—at least a rumble of thunder as he smiled at her. Years later, he had admitted she had an attraction he could not name at the time; nine years passed before he said it was love. Loved her from their first meeting—she had laughed, so much in love with him that he could have said anything and she would have loved him even more.

Now, no longer married to the man she loved, who by all indications no longer loved her, she was married to her job—a job she had taken reluctantly but with the support of those who had been friends and co-workers for fifteen years. She had the office; her predecessor's posters were still hanging on the wall.

Paperwork waited her review and signature. She sighed again; reaching for a pen, she looked up as Lindsay Willows entered the office. A few minutes later, after opening the envelope, she left the desk in search of a video player.

 ** _A/N: Thanks for reading! A review, a comment, or a few words gives us encouragement to get the next chapter ready!_**


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Another new chapter! Enjoy! Read, review, and another chapter!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 2**

 _I still remember when…your kiss was so brand new…every memory repeats…every step I take retreats…Every journey always brings me back to you…_

Gil Grissom gave the sponge a quick, impatient squeeze and tossed it into the bucket. Grabbing a dry rag towel, he returned to the wind-screen and spent several long minutes wiping at three ghost-like splats of bird droppings.

In his hurried exit, under the close eyes of the local harbor police, he had not had time to cover anything and the birds had taken advantage of his absence by making the boat their roost. He'd also had to throw away two fish he had planned to eat for breakfast on the day he was caught trespassing.

He glanced at the small refrigerator on the open deck. Tackling the smell was his next job; he wasn't sure vinegar was going to rid the small appliance of its fishy stink.

As he moved around the boat and dock, he managed to keep his mind on the work at hand—mostly. Finally, as he scrubbed the refrigerator, his will power yielded to who he had not stopped thinking about since his quick departure from Las Vegas.

Sara…not a day had gone by without thinking of her. No, he corrected his thoughts; not an hour passed that he did not think of her. Sara's enigmatic smile; her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her pursed lips in the moment before her laughter burst forth. Her wit, her intelligence—with every cell in his body, he would miss her for the rest of his life.

Walking into the lab after so many years, Grissom had found a strange, unfamiliar place. And it was a recently remodeled lab from the crowded space he had once worked. The hallway followed the same path but there was more security at the entrance; the bubbly woman at the front desk had been replaced by a stoic young man in uniform who had pressed a hidden button to open a sliding door after reviewing Grissom's driver's license and looking at a computer screen.

He returned because his assistance had been requested. He had returned to help an old friend who was suffering a life-altering tragedy. Ecklie had called, an opportune time to avoid an official charge on an unblemished public record. And, finally, with a curiosity he would not admit, he wanted to see the woman he had loved for so long, who he continued to love even after setting her free, ending their marriage in a sudden fit of misunderstanding, a muddled mix-up of words and inattention.

There was no denying he wanted to see Sara but truth was he feared to see her. His curiosity, his memories could cause him to betray himself, his feelings.

During the short flight to Vegas, he had determined to maintain professionalism; he was returning to help a friend in need. Sara had moved on. According to Ecklie, Sara was in line to be the next lab director.

Standing alone in the hallway, a young woman appeared to know him, or at least know of his antics of initiation that occurred years before her employment. Perhaps, he did have a history here, he thought.

A moment later, he knew himself undone as all his strong resolve disappeared as fog in the morning sun. Sara. His breath caught in his chest as her beautiful intelligent eyes flashed unflinchingly at him. Her chin tilted in that provoking manner that had captivated him from the first time he had seen her and he thought he groaned.

How he had missed her! He wanted to smile; he wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to take her hand in his and pull her into his arms as he had done in dreams that tormented his sleep. For a brief moment, he thought he had lost control and embraced her, kissed her, but, in reality he had remained in one place.

When she had commanded his attention, his presence to visit Heather Kessler's home, he realized he would have time alone with Sara and immediately experienced regret. There had been no joy in her eyes at his arrival. And there had been none during the drive.

She had pointed out several new buildings, a recent change in traffic patterns at an intersection—all delivered in a professional manner as one would speak to a casual acquaintance.

They had grown apart—as she had said on Heather's porch. Gone different ways, parted without words.

As he left the lab after Sara's official promotion, he had felt gratified at her success but despair for any thoughts he had of a rekindling of her love.

He loved working with her, watching her, being with her, but his own insecurities, his inability to give her what she wanted, had destroyed what he would never again experience.

Coughing as the smell of vinegar filled his nostrils, he wrinkled his nose and did a quick spray of water before wiping the surface again. Maybe the cooler would not smell—to bad. He maneuvered the box back into the cabin and plugged it in. Immediately, it began to hum.

Satisfied with the cleanliness inside and out, he checked the time and hoped for a departure by mid-morning before the tide turned. Dropping into the lower cabin where a V shaped berth fit into the hull of the boat, he checked a stack of books stored underneath, pulled one out, and opened it to a hollow cut in the pages where he stored cash. He pulled a few bills out and headed to the dock where he paid the dock master for the marina's utilities and slip usage.

A few minutes later, Grissom was back on his boat, untying dock lines at the rear as he prepared to cast-off. He easily flipped one small fender into the boat and reached for the larger one, using both hands to drop in on deck.

Turning, he glanced at an approaching figure, silhouetted by the morning sun. A closer look and he realized the light was not playing tricks on his sight. Every nerve in his body came alive, yet he seemed unable to command any purposeful movement.

Sara…here!

His mind reeled. How could she be here? Walking toward him, a smile spread across her face as she approached.

After all his denials and dreams, she was here. Willing his limbs to move, he reached for her, placed his hands around her chest to bring her into the boat, and never removed them—at least not for a long while.

 _A/N: Don't forget to leave a comment, a review, a 'hey, I'm reading!' note! Thanks so much!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:** Many many thanks for the amazing (and surprising) responses to this story! Some of you have asked questions-hopefully, you'll get answers! Another short chapter that gets our fav couple to the same place!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 3**

 _After all the stops and starts…we keep coming back to these two hearts…Two angels who've been rescued from the fall…_

Sara felt her pulse race, her breath mingled with his. The coats they wore did nothing to stop memories. With her arms hugging Grissom, she remembered the planes of his body as they had made love, the flawless fit between them, the sliding of flesh as their bodies touched, and the deft explorations of her body by his mouth, his hands and fingers. Long ago, she had realized why he was so cool and methodical in his dealings with others; he saved all his sensuality for the bed.

Too soon, she felt him easing away and she had to bite back a protesting moan.

Near her ear, he whispered, "You came."

Finally, words formed, "I need you."

He drew a breath of surprise. "And I need you. Dear God, how I need you!" He crushed his mouth on hers, taking her breath before releasing her mouth. "I've needed you for years." Words spoken against her lips followed by another kiss, this one deep, intimately searching her mouth; his tongue brushing along the edge of her teeth.

His arms and hands moved around her again, holding her close in a warm, tender embrace. His whisper tickled her ear as he said, "What have I done?" His mouth moved to her cheek. "Dear Sara," he whispered, "if I had the gift of poetry, I'd shower you with sonnets." A soft chuckle. "But words have always been difficult for me when my feelings are strongest." A brief pause; she could feel his smile against her face. "I could never bear the sight of you walking away from me."

Moving his hands to her face, cradling her face with gentleness, he said, "I'm so happy you came." His mouth found hers again, catching her top lip in a nuzzling caress that sent quivers of heat to her toes.

As Sara responded, she felt him hesitate before pulling away.

He said, "You've come for the day."

"No," she whispered, "I've come to—to stay—if you want me to stay."

"I want you to be happy."

"I'm happy with you—whatever you want to do—I want to be with you."

Waving his hand in an eastern direction, he said, "What about your new job? It's—it's what you wanted."

Abruptly, Sara pushed away from him. She laughed, saying, "I've left the cab driver waiting! My—my—I brought a bag—I wasn't sure—about—about—finding you—that you would still be here!"

Hands on her arms, gripping her tightly, Grissom laughed. "Stay here," he said. "Right here—don't move."

Quickly, he stepped from boat to dock and jogged up the ramp. By the time he reached the yellow taxi, Grissom had pulled a wad of money from his pocket, the driver had Sara's roll-aboard suitcase sitting beside the car, and both men grinned as money changed hands.

"Good-luck to you both," the driver said as he glanced at the money, raising an eyebrow at the amount before realizing he had spoken to air.

In a blur, Grissom was down the ramp and back on the boat, smiling as he lifted the suitcase onboard.

Hurriedly, he said, "How long? How long can you stay? I planned to leave with the tide—but—but we can stay here. I—I don't have a schedule."

Sara took the few steps that separated them. As her hands touched his face, as her fingers threaded through his hair, she whispered, "I've come to stay as long as you'll have me." She kissed his right cheek; the stubble of his beard rubbed against her lips and caused her to smile.

Grissom responded by securing her more firmly against his body before finding her mouth. The kiss he gave her was a deep, tender, adoring caress of lips and tongue. The tip of his warm tongue played inside her mouth until she was struggling to control her breathing. His thigh had managed to part her legs and a brilliant bloom of passion opened inside her.

A sudden sound startled both of them.

Grissom turned; Sara looked up at a man standing on the dock, a rope in his hands.

"I thought I'd tie you up again seeing as how it looks like you may be a while." The dock worker reached for one of the fenders and dropped it between the boat and the dock before he twisted the rope around a cleat.

"Thanks—thank you," Grissom said as he wrapped an arm around Sara. "Unexpected visitor—I—we might spend another night here."

The man nodded, smiled, and waved as he walked away.

And then Sara started giggling. She pressed her face against his shoulder and laughed until she cried. Tears rolled down her face as she hugged the man she had loved for as long as she could remember, enjoying the way his beard scratched her neck and his lips warmed

her body.

For a while, they stood on the gently rocking boat, holding each other until Sara's laughter quieted and the wetness in her eyes dried.

She was first to speak. "I've missed you."

Grissom's fingers laced into her hair as he said, "Have you really come to stay? What about your job?"

"I'm here to be with you." Sara kissed him, quickly, before continuing, "I watched the tape—what you said to Heather." Her mouth formed a quick line as she hesitated, biting her lip to suppress a smile. Her fingers gently stroked his face as a tentative smile lifted her lips; her eyes twinkled. "You need someone to help with your crossword puzzles."

 _A/N: Now we've them on the boat! Again, please leave a comment, a few words...we will get another chapter to you soon!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading! Next chapter rating will change-just so you know what's coming! Now, read, review, and, by magic, a new chapter!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 4**

 _And after all that we've been through…It all comes down to me and you. I guess it's meant to be…forever you and me._

She knew! Grissom had not given a thought to the camera in the interview room, vaguely remembering it in a corner when he had talked to Heather. And now, his words had changed everything. She was here; she came.

For a few seconds, his mouth opened, then closed as he attempted to say something—anything—yet his brain was unable to bring up any rational words or clever quip.

Finally, he stuttered, "I—I should have—you should have heard it from me." His voice was quieter than a whisper, stunned and surprised by her words. "I don't know why I find it so difficult…"

Sara quieted him with a kiss. Gently, her fingers caressed his face and in her eyes, he knew understanding.

Somehow, they untangled enough for Grissom to show her around the boat. With a bit of pride, he showed her the small galley with its basic kitchen equipment and explained the slight aroma of vinegar. The table was covered with rolls of maps, several electronic devices, and a laptop. Under the forward windows, a secure cabinet contained more pieces of equipment.

"We'll get into all that later," he explained. He could not stop smiling as he indicated a ladder to the sleeping area.

"I—I'm the only one on the boat," Grissom explained, waving his hand at papers and books across the bed and a sleeping bag rolled to one side. "I sort of take all the space." Quickly, he added, "but we can make room—I can clear away most of this." He paused for a minute before saying, "We can—we can take care of this later—I—I never thought you'd come."

As she looked around the area, almost devoid of those things he'd once treasured, she asked, "You have another place to live, right?"

He took her hand as she stepped away from the ladder. There was not much floor space so he pulled her against his chest.

"I—I live in my mother's place—Venice Beach. She never sold it so—so I moved in."

Sara nodded, asking, "The address I sent your boxes?"

He could see the pain, briefly, in her eyes before she leaned her head against his shoulder.

Whispering, he said, "I'm so sorry—all this time—I—I was afraid—I was a fool."

"No, no." Sara's fingers covered his lips. "We were both fools. I thought you'd moved on—it was so difficult to talk—to say what I wanted to say when I thought you wanted to—to be alone."

Her words caused him to tighten his arms around her. He said, "Let me get your bag and we'll walk up to the marina store for supplies. We—we can stay here another night—or—or what do you want to do?"

"What's your plan? You were getting ready to leave—can we—can we do that?"

There was a moment of awkwardness—his mind failed again in its ability to form a coherent sentence; he nodded, mumbled something that sounded like an agreement as he climbed the ladder to the galley and brought her suitcase back with him. Sara was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Are you okay?"

She smiled. "It's been a while since I've been on a boat."

Motioning toward the ladder, he said, "Let's get some food—suddenly, I'm starving." He placed her case on the bed—on top of scattered books.

The marina had a small café where they ordered two of the vegetarian sandwiches on the menu.

As they ate, he told her about the boat, buying it at auction from a Portland research organization. The group he worked with had provided most of the electronics needed to follow other boats along the coast. Most of the time, he worked around Los Angeles but had followed a trail of dying or dead sharks with missing fins to San Diego.

"That's where I got caught—first time. Most of the time we—the group has thirty or forty people using all kinds of boats—go in as individuals, find what has been poached and call it in to the authorities. We disappear as soon as they show up." He chuckled. "This time—I think I set off an alarm and got caught."

He had relaxed as he talked and Sara ate—at some point realizing how much he had missed her companionship. He said, "Did you really come to stay? I—I—I mean stay with me? What about your job?"

Wiping a napkin across her mouth, she took a slow sip from her drink. "I came to find you—and to stay." She tipped her head in the direction of his plate. "I'll eat those chips if you don't."

He picked up several and placed them on her plate. "When did you last eat?"

Shrugging, picking up a chip and turning it slowly between her fingers, she continued, "After I watched the video, I realized if—if I ever wanted you to know how I felt, I needed to see you—not just see you but to say my feelings for you have not changed—and—and we need—we should to be together."

Grissom's sandwich had stopped mid-way between his plate and his mouth. She motioned for him to eat.

She said, "I had a brief conversation with Ecklie suggesting he offer the job to Catherine—she's much more politic than I could ever be—and I'm using leave for four months until my official resignation kicks in."

Grissom's sandwich was in the same place.

Laughing, Sara said, "If you don't eat that sandwich, I'm going to!"

"What about your house?"

"Our house—your name is still on the deed. I went home long enough to pack my bag, watered the plants, and called Greg on my way to the airport. He laughed like a hyena—in a nice way—agreed to check on things until he heard from me."

He took a bite and chewed on his sandwich for a minute. "I apologize for—for everything. It was my selfish ways—my own envy—suspicions with no basis." His hand splayed toward Sara. "You never asked for anything—and—like a fool—without any evidence, I—I thought you had tired of me."

Sara played with the same potato chip as he talked, responded with a tentative smile before saying, "It's safe to say we both had doubts—I thought you no longer wanted me around—certainly not as your wife." She looked away; he knew she was hiding painful memories.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, reaching across the table for her hand. "I'll live the rest of my life making up for what we missed."

Turning her hand so she could grasp his, she said, "Don't talk about what we've missed." A true smile of joy transformed her face. "We've got so much to do! You've got to teach me about all that equipment—and what you do on _Ishmael—_ by the way, I like the name." Smiling, she wadded her napkin into a ball and tossed it toward his plate where half of his tomato, cheese, and avocado sandwich lay. "I am going to finish your sandwich."

 _A/N: Thank you! Next chapter soon!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! Thank you for your encouraging comments! Enjoy!**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 5**

 _And after all that we've been through…it all comes down to me and you…I guess it's meant to be…Forever you and me…After all._

If this was a dream, Sara thought, it was happening with amazing clarity. One could do anything one wished in a dream, no rules, no boundaries, and, in this dream, only pleasure.

Gil had undressed her, and himself, mingling their clothes in a heap on the floor. She had taken a shower in the snug little bubble unit behind the ladder. When she stepped out, he had given her a white towel and indicated the bed, which was cleared of all books and papers and covered with a white sheet with the sleeping bag folded across the narrow end.

Afternoon sunlight flooded the space from a rectangle hatch as she dried her body and brushed her hair. They had returned from their meal with a box of food—more than enough for an overnight trip. As she placed apples in a container, she had felt a warm breath seconds before lips touched the curve of her neck. The hot surge of passion, the inarticulate sound she made as she returned the kiss with an enthusiastic response, caused both to realize clothing was hindering their desire.

"The bed." She was certain he'd said that.

As Sara tucked the towel around her chest, she examined her face in a small oval mirror. Touching her mouth, she smiled as her finger traced her swollen lips. They had kissed a lot—practically eaten the skin off each other, she thought. Even the tender redness felt right.

Suddenly, Grissom was beside her; his reflection in the mirror, his mouth playing with hers in kisses that were lazy and prolonged. His naked form pressed against hers; the towel dropped as their hands began to explore.

She did not remember getting into the bed but as he laid claim to every inch of her body in a slow, erotic pilgrimage of kisses and caresses, she was overwhelmed by his touch, his scent, the fever-hot tenderness of his body pressed against hers.

His tongue and lips had found places that caused her to twitch in surprised pleasure. His warm hands smoothed over her bottom and when his fingertips probed the crevice between her thighs, she made a groan; her body pushed up from the bed.

As his fingers circled and teased delicate flesh, she groaned again. His response was to purr into her ear and straddle her. When she felt the silken weight of his erection brush against her thigh, light and gentle—too gentle, she thought—she wanted more.

Breathless, she murmured "now".

"Sara—Sara" he whispered against her tender mouth. "I've—I've not…" His own voice trembled with his words.

Instantly, her hands caught his face. Looking into his eyes, she saw sparkling blue fire. She said, "I have not had sex with anyone since you left." She lifted her hips against his. "This needs to happen now!"

His head dropped to the valley between her breasts; his warm breath nearly brought an orgasm.

Quietly, he said, "I've had such a deep ache—an empty place without you. And—the last time I had sex was with you." A smile spread across his face when he lifted his face. "I've dream of this."

When his tongue dragged across her nipple, she groaned again, holding back the rush to reach a climax. After a long tantalizing slide down her body as he kissed, tasted and nibbled her body, his wonderful tongue invaded the nest of curls between her legs. Her hips arched against his mouth as he licked deeper, the tip of his tongue circling in a flirting torment that made her entire body tremble. He centered on the peak of her sex and found a rhythm that sent flames of fire to every cell.

"Gil," she heard herself whispering again and again, as if his name were an erotic charm. Her hands found his head, urging him to push his mouth where she wanted it to be. Suddenly, his mouth clamped over her with such precision, sucking, tonguing her as a heavy tide of ecstasy swept over her. She dived into the whirlpool of ecstasy that rocked her body, stopped her breath, and sent a cascade of muscular waves throughout her body.

Then she was being cradled in his arms, his breath warm and damp against hers. She wanted more, his body, his soul, inside her. She touched his erection, hot and smooth in her hand, as she guided him to the wet, pulsing cleft of her body.

"Now," she said huskily. "Inside me—now!" In a sudden blur of movement, she bit his neck. His response was immediate.

He pushed her legs apart; she felt a kindling of pleasure as sensitive flesh received his thrusts, pressing deeper until he was fully inside her. Her body throbbed around his as he held still inside her with what seemed to be infinite patience.

Sara looked into tender eyes; their gazes held as he began a gentle rhythm. Increasingly, pleasure erased all other thoughts. Her head fell back and she felt him kissing her as she pulled him into her throbbing body. Her body shuddered with an orgasm so strong that she thought she might come apart from pleasure. Seconds later, his eyes closed; she felt his rasping breath as he reached his own climax. She was certain she'd experienced the best sex she had ever had.

When he moved to withdraw from her, she murmured, "No, not yet," and hitched her leg over his hip. "Is this a dream?" She whispered.

"No, this is very real." Gently, his fingers brushed her hair behind her ear.  
"Get some sleep," he said and kissed her.

She did sleep, opening her eyes to diminished light. Late afternoon, she thought. The warm body next to her moved; his eyes opened and for a second, she saw confusion, quickly replaced by a smile.

"This is not a dream," he said.

She licked dry lips and kissed him which went on for several minutes before he broke away.

He said, "I'll get some water—we will resume this later. I want you to experience the sunset in the best way possible."

She watched as he pulled on his pants and climbed the ladder. A few minutes later he returned with water.

"It's chilly up top."

When she took the glass, he disappeared into the small bathroom for a few minutes. Reappearing, he held a washcloth and a towel. Making a motion with his finger, Sara shook her head, laughing as she sat up.

"You aren't going to do this?"

Grissom nodded, reaching for her ankle to separate her legs. Sara actually blushed when he pulled the sheet away.

The warm cloth pressed between her thighs caused her to sigh. He had done the same thing the first time they had sex. He folded the washcloth and gently wiped her delicate parts. Leaving the towel with her, he returned to the bathroom, coming back with a fresh warm cloth and slowly wiped her again.

"You know," Grissom said as he used the towel to pat her dry."We really should get married."

A proposal. For a full minute, she looked at him in astonished silence.

He arched one brow with impeccable confidence and picked up her hand, saying, "Dear Sara, will you marry me?" A quiet chuckle followed. "We know what not to do this time."

She responded by kissing him; she honestly did not care if they ever married. She just wanted to be with him and be loved by him.

Finally, they managed to dress and, a few minutes before the sun set, Sara held onto Grissom's arm as the boat left the marina.

They headed north for a short trip to another marina; for one night, he said, they would anchor for the night and spend the next day sailing up the coast and home.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading...now...keep us writing with a few encouraging words! More soon!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Enjoy!**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 6**

 _When love is truly right—this time it's truly right…It lives from year to year…It changes as it goes. Oh, and on the way it grows…but it never disappears._

The night sky became a million stars—an infinity of diamonds going on forever. The boat skimmed along calm water until the lights of San Diego appeared as a faint glow on the horizon. Then the boat banked due north; the torque of its diesel engine changed slightly before settling into a steady hum.

"It won't take long for us to reach Oceanside. It's a busy marina, but this late, there won't be many boats going in." If possible, his smile grew.

Gil Grissom was happier than he had a right to be and he knew it. After he adjusted the boat's electronics to avoid the marine's claim to the coastline, he pulled two narrow seats from underneath the console.

Asking "Are you cold?" as Sara settled a hip on the 'co-pilot' side.

Shaking her head, Sara extended her foot to touch his leg. "It's beautiful out here."

For a while they talked about the night sky; finding Orion and all the visible planets, perhaps the Hydra constellation, and tracing Gemini—maybe it was Gemini—because they were kissing again. By that time, a line of lights had appeared to the east so Grissom adjusted the boat. The chart plotter showed they were six miles from the marina.

On sonar, they could see a flowing school of fish, then a series of V shapes—more fish, and then a tight ball of bait fish seemed to scroll as one giant mass across the screen.

Grissom chuckled as he pointed to the bait ball, saying, "There's a bigger fish out here looking for dinner."

Sara glanced at him. "How big?"

"Don't worry—they'd rather eat smaller fish than us."

Ten minutes later, Grissom throttled the engine and began to search the water for a mooring buoy. When he found one on the north side of the marina, he had Sara stand by to drop an anchor and went about the business of pulling a chain out of the water, hooking it to a cleat on the boat, and then signaled for Sara to drop the anchor.

"Much easier with two working," he said with a grin. It took several more moves to get the boat situated. Then he turned, saying, "Okay—we're here for the night." A slight shrug and lift of his mouth. "We can eat—and—and…"

Sara leaned across the engine cover. She said, "Then we can sleep—after we," a mischievous grin, "have sex again—I enjoyed what we did earlier."

He had not expected her to say that but it caused him to laugh.

With purpose, they managed to set the boat for the night and prepare a quick meal. And then they were in the small space where they'd left a rumpled bed and a sudden shyness seemed to descend between them.

Sara pointed over her shoulder. "I'll take the—the—ahh—bathroom—the head—first."

A few minutes later, she emerged with hair pulled back, face washed, teeth brushed, and a light scent—Grissom had no idea how she managed it—of citrus.

"You made the bed!"

"Yes—yes. I…" He grinned. "You always made the bed," he said as he stepped into the head and slid the door closed.

Sara undressed and pulled a tee-shirt from her luggage; she had not put much thought into clothes as she'd hurriedly pack a bag and now realized she had not thought of bringing warm clothes to sleep in. She was still rummaging through her clothes when Grissom stepped into the space.

Before she could stand and turn around, he patted her butt. It was with simply happiness that she turned to find his eyes glowing with warmth. A smile lifted the corners of his mouth and he looked so relaxed, so handsome in the glow of soft low lights.

When Sara glanced away, his fingers came to her cheek, guiding her face back to his. The tip of his thumb slid over her chin.

"I've missed you every day," he said softly.

"Why didn't you call?" Her response was quiet, gentle, and surprising.

"I was afraid to."

"Why?"

"Because I thought I'd find that you had moved on—to—to someone else."

Sara eased into his arms. "Never," she whispered.

When they kissed, it caused a deep pleasurable ache; the taste of his mouth was clean. The feel of her body was immensely exciting.

Wordlessly, Grissom turned her around, helped her into the bed, and crawled in with her. His mouth touched the curve of her neck. The brush of his lips against her skin caused her to tremble, and she nestled close to him.

She explored his face with her fingertips, his jaw, his neck, wanting to melt into his skin, realizing she could not kiss him hard enough, long enough.

One of his hands slipped underneath her shirt; a sigh escaped as he tugged the edge of cloth and pulled it over her head.

Grissom sought her mouth again with another kiss. "If you were not so forgiving—and kind," he said huskily, "you would have torn my head off several times."

His words caused Sara to laugh. "We've behaved more like two ill-tempered hedgehogs." She giggled, adding, "But even hedgehogs eventually figure it out."

His hand moved along the length of her back and cupped her bottom; she felt waves of an aching pleasure and groaned in response to a slow, deep kiss. Moving down to her breasts, he covered them with light kisses, touching her nipple with strokes of his tongue.

She was already flushed with desire when he took one nipple into his mouth and tugged on it with firm but gentle strokes as his hand flattened on her stomach. Her own hand trembled as she took his hand and moved it downward to the dampness between her thighs.

Smiling against her breast, he moved to the other nipple as his fingers searched delicately, and then grazed over the wet intimacy of her sex. His touch was gossamer-light as he stroked; her hips moved against his hand.

Sensation layered on sensation as touches heightened arousal. Caresses launched an urgent quest as he pushed her knees up and entered her, slowly, sliding, nudging into the tight clasp of her sex. Tenderly. Every movement seemed to draw a thrill of pleasure from deep within her body.

Sara sensed her approaching climax; her hips rose with his measured rhythm. With his deliberate action—his arms held her, his fingers touched her, his tongue explored her mouth—he pushed her into a shattering burst of ecstasy. Her body clenched in throbbing contractions, milking a climax from him until a deep growl came from his throat.

As he lowered his head to her shoulder, she could feel his panting breaths against her neck. Her hands soothed across his damp back as his breathing gradually slowed.

"I love you, Gil Grissom," she whispered.

His hand moved to her left breast; lightly, his fingertip played with her nipple.

He said, softly, "I love you—I should have said it before now—you are the only person I've ever loved—and always will."

Immediately, tears welled in Sara's eyes.

He raised his head to kiss her and seeing tears, said, "Don't cry, Sara. It kills me to see you cry!" He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth before saying, "You are so beautiful." His thumb wiped away a track of wetness on her face. "Please, don't."

He kissed her again, longer, causing her breath to stop when his finger moved to the spot where her breast rose from her chest. He'd always known where to touch her. And when they finally broke for air, she was smiling.

After Grissom wiped her body with a cool cloth, he put on his pants, and tucked the sleeping bag around Sara before heading to the galley.

"Stay," he'd instructed.

When he returned, he carried a small bowl filled with pears—the ones from a can—which were covered with red wine and honey. He'd also thought to bring a spoon.

"This is the best I could do for an exotic dessert," he said as he held the bowl for her.

She admitted she had never eaten pears in wine and honey but dipped the spoon into the soft fruit. A slow chew later, she smiled and offered him the next bite. Once, he kissed a drop of honey from her lips.

"It really is good," Sara said as she turned the bowl up and drank the liquid remnants.

She snuggled close to Grissom and for a while neither said anything. His lips brushed across her forehead.

He whispered, "I've missed you, Sara."

She sighed, arranged herself so she was facing him, and caressed his face. Her forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I think this is a dream, Gil. This morning, I—I almost did not watch the video." Her fingertip traced over his lips. "I didn't want to watch Heather and then—you with Heather."

"I'm so sorry. It—Heather is a friend…"

Sara's fingers covered his mouth. She said, "I—I don't want to know."

Grissom sat up, keeping one arm around her shoulders as he reached the narrow shelf that ran the length of the bed. He placed a book on Sara's abdomen and reached again retrieving another book, smaller with an ink pen attached by a loop.

He reached again and turned on a lamp that provided a circle of bright light.

"Okay," he said with a sigh and settled beside Sara. "The big one is my drawing book." Glancing at her, he added, "I've had a lot of time on my hands—watching and waiting—so I—I draw things. What I see—what I remember." He opened the book to a random page. "Lots of fish—and marine life." He turned several pages before showing her another page. "And you—not very good at faces—but I sketched you."

Sara took the book and studied her likeness; not one but page after page of her face with a smile, with a serious frown, with expressions she recognized as herself in various situations. She was surprised into silence; she'd known he had a talent for drawing—he had drawn insects for years, but to see the details of her face on paper was amazing.

Grissom held up the second book. "This is a—a journal. I started writing about two years ago. A way to deal with—with a lot of things. Last entry was the day before I got caught trespassing." He handed it to her. "Read it—I want you to read it."

"No—no—I couldn't do that," protested Sara.

His hand rose. Softly, he said, "You know I've never been very good with words—and sometimes with you." He chuckled. "With you I have a hard time expressing what I feel—what I really want to say."

She protested again, but he was adamant. And, finally, he won.

Sara, propped on a pillow, opened the book to the last page of writing and began to read. In minutes, Grissom had shifted his head to her belly and was softly breathing with an occasional quiet snore indicating he had dropped into deep sleep.

Going backwards, from his most recent entry, she turned the page and read his entry describing a trail of dead sharks. It was the next page which caused her to draw a sharp breath. She'd found Heather Kessler's name.

 _A/N: Thanks so much for reading! We love your comments-more coming!_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N:** Thank you for the tremendous and encouraging response! Keep reading! Keep reviewing!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 7**

 _After all the stops and starts…we keep coming back to these two hearts._

Waves caused the boat to rock a bit as the wind changed direction; more of a ruffling of water against the hull that barely registered with the two occupants tucked into the V-shaped berth.

Grissom had fallen asleep quickly even with the arc of light touching his eyelashes, reflecting a golden tint that was not visible when he was awake. His hands were clasped across his chest, a position that Sara had always found amusing.

Sara's hand rested on the head of her sleeping lover as she read the entry in his journal. Across the top of the page, he'd written the date and another number but she paid scarce notice as she began to read.

The entry began with a description of the weather, ocean conditions, and his location based on GPS. In the middle of the page, he had written about a phone conversation:

 _I'm concerned about Heather. Her conversation was distressing—more depressed now than weeks ago. She repeated several times that she was not suicidal but discouraged at circumstances. I have no answer or solution for her._

Sara read the entirety of the entry and found no other mention of Heather. The last sentence was a line from one of Shakespeare's sonnets _:_

 _I summon up remembrance of things past._

Keeping a finger on the page, she looked at the sleeping man, head on her lap. Relaxed, he appeared to be ten years younger than he had when he arrived in the lab just a few days ago; when he had shown up to help Heather Kessler—over two years since he'd been in Vegas. And he'd maintained contact with the woman.

Irritated, Sara bit her lip; she would never understand the man she loved with every cell in her body. She flipped several pages in the journal, quickly scanning sentences to find another mention of Heather Kessler.

Each entry was dated; the number at the top of the page descended as she turned pages; he was counting something, she thought. There was always a line from a sonnet to end his daily writings. And then, ten days prior to his last entry, she turned the page and found it—two things.

Another mention of Heather; they had talked on the phone about Heather's granddaughter. Sara read his words, covering three pages, relating the conversation—Heather had closed her therapy practice and was literally wandering around her house in a very depressed state.

He wrote _: Other than being available to listen, I don't know what else I can do. She promises she is sad, not suicidal. She is angry at the world. After her involvement with Jack Oakley, I know she can do things she'll regret._

At the bottom of the page, he'd drawn a face. Clearly, not Heather. Sara recognized her own face in profile, her hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail. Her confusion grew. He had divorced her; he had stayed away. He had broken contact with her.

She turned pages and found an established pattern. Reports of whale sightings, a pod of dolphins following the boat, a call to the Coast Guard about an overloaded, unmarked boat heading to a remote coastline, several calls to Fish and Game, all recorded in the journal. Occasionally, he had sketched sea creatures; often, he had drawn her face.

Deciding to read from the beginning, she turned to the first day—actually January 1. He wasn't on his boat but wrote about several ball games he had watched. A couple of days later, he wrote about pulling a long fishing net out of the ocean and had made a list of the diverse sea life he'd disentangled; only a few had survived.

Most days, he gave an account of a solitary life with an occasional mention of meeting people who were doing similar work. He never mentioned names.

He recorded names of sighted ships, but tried to stay away from primary shipping lanes. He often followed fishing vessels for hours. Sara decided he had reason to believe certain boats were involved in criminal activity but she had no idea how he made that decision.

In early February, she found the usual report of weather and sea conditions and then several lines had been marked through before he'd written:

 _I have so many memories—her smile, her frown when she concentrates, her eyes wide with curiosity or rolling with laughter. Her eyes soft with love and desire—how I want to be the object of that loving gaze, to feel the warmth of her body again. What have I done? I know I'll never love another—why did I rush to judgment? Why didn't I return when she asked? Why was it so important to stay away? I don't even remember…_

She brought her hand to the wetness on her cheek; hurriedly brushing it away. He had written about her. Remembering with amazing clarity, she recalled his cold words of "it's for the best" and "so you can move on". She had never understood why he had initiated a divorce; she thought he had found someone else or desired to be single—most of all, he no longer loved her.

For a few minutes, she let her thoughts replay the confusion, the missed phone calls, the interrupted and postponed weekends until they had found little to talk about. When his mother died, he had returned for a couple of days, obviously anxious to return to the project in South America. Their parting had been loving, supportive—and then he had not returned. She had believed he no longer wanted her, that he had found someone else.

Signing the divorce papers had been the most heartbreaking moment in her life, but she did as he had asked. Because she loved him even if he no longer loved her.

Yet, this diary—his journal—revealed a different circumstance. He loved her; he had thought of her daily. Her face in ink was drawn on many pages—sometimes no larger than a quarter, other times, the sketch took up an entire page.

Continuing to read, she turned page after page finding the first mention of Heather Kessler in late May. Her granddaughter had been killed.

A few days passed before there were more details; Heather had called to express her appreciation for flowers. Grissom had written:

 _Heather is inconsolable. Her voice is pained and tear-filled, sobbing that had rendered her incapable of speech several times. She had donated the child's body for transplants so others might benefit and the telling of that caused more grieving sobs._

 _I am torn—I might do some good if I went to Vegas—but she says she will work through her grief. Jerome has been with her—and her long-time housekeeper. I have my own past to face in that city and while her loss and grief are no comparison to my own self-made misery, I can't face the possibility of going to Vegas and seeing Sara—or not seeing her, knowing she has moved on._

 _Would she see me? I'm a fool, a selfish one, to put my own feelings ahead of a friend's tragedy. I can be a long-distant friend, a sounding-board for Heather's grief but I am not ready to face my own pain—what I have done._

Sara closed the book and wiped her eyes. For two years, more than two years, working until she could collapse with exhaustion into fitful sleep, she had lived believing her beloved Gil had left her—no longer loved her. They had been so foolish, so full of misguided pridethat neither would contact the other.

Closing the book, she tucked it on the shelf, leaned over and kissed the forehead of the man she loved. Moving his head to a pillow as she scooted beside him, he made a weak grumbling sound as he woke and rolled toward her.

He asked, "How much did you read?"

"Enough."

With a quiet chuckle, he asked, "What does that mean?"

"You love me—and I love you." She fitted against his chest. "And I want to see a whale—up close, but not too close."

Another quiet chuckle. "We will—we will."

Tucking her ear to his chest, she heard the steady beat of his heart. She whispered, "I do love you, Gil. Always have."

She felt the touch of his lips against the top of her head followed by, "I love you, dear girl, I believe from the first moment we met." His lips found her forehead and he kissed her again.

In another minute, he was asleep, his arms wrapped firmly around her. Sara, however, stayed away for a while longer, thinking about what she'd read. This man she loved was an enigma, a mystery, but she had the rest of her life to work with this beloved puzzle. A gift, she thought, and with that she was asleep.

 _A/N: We've asked some of you-now, others-chime in and help us decide. This story can go for one-two more chapters. Or it can be much longer. Suggestions?_


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Thanks to all who are reading-and a special thanks to those who leave a message!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 8**

 _And after all that we've been through...it all comes down to me and you. I guess it's meant to be…Forever you and me…_

Gil Grissom woke to find himself enveloped in the warmth of a shared bed. He had counted the nights since he'd last lain in bed with the only person he had ever wanted in his bed. And—his first thought was of Sara; she must be exhausted from their lovemaking because there had been little movement from her during the night. He had not forgotten how well-suited they were even in sleep.

Based on the weak light from the hatch, he knew it was daybreak. The bed was so warm and the air was cold, he hated to move but he did, easing away from Sara hoping not to wake her.

She burrowed closer. Groggily, she said, "Don't go—not yet."

"I must—the sun is almost up. I need to signal the marina manager to pay for the night. And I want to get underway so we can get home early."

Smiling, she nuzzled into his shoulder, her lips kissing his chest. "Warm me up."

Grissom groaned at the temptation and forced himself to leave the bed. He said, "I'll make coffee and send the marina office a message. Shouldn't take long." He pulled on the same pants and jacket he'd worn the day before and tucked the sleeping bag around Sara. "Sleep a little longer. I'll start the engine and you'll have hot water in fifteen minutes if you want a shower."

He got a muffled incomprehensible response. Noticing the journal on the shelf, he wondered how much she had read—he remembered something about a whale and she'd said she loved him. It was enough to make him smile as he climbed the steps to the galley.

Before the marina worker had pushed away from his boat, Grissom heard noise in the cabin. When he pushed the door open, the aroma and the appearance of the woman, legs stretching below the hem of his shirt, as she searched in a cabinet, caused his breath to halt. Sara on his boat had been a dream for two years.

"Hey, good morning," he said, nervous now that she was in the small space and unsure of what she would say; if she was regretting her actions. But when she turned, his doubts disappeared. "Did—did you sleep okay? It's not the best bed."

Holding a small pot in one hand, she took two steps and wrapped her arms around his neck. She said, "I've had the best sleep I've had in months—probably in three years if I counted." She placed a kiss on his cheek before claiming his lips.

His response was to return her kiss with equal passion which went on until she dropped the pan. The clattering noise broke them apart; Sara laughed as she retrieved the pan.

"Oatmeal," she said. "We got oatmeal for breakfast—I thought I'd have it ready in a minute."

It was the best oatmeal he had ever eaten.

Within an hour, they were out of the marina and headed northwest. Grissom explained the active shipping lanes into Los Angeles port and pointed to a dark line on the horizon, Catalina Island.

"We'll go around Catalina and into Marina del Rey. Lots of ships—and sometimes, a whale will venture into the mix." He handed Sara binoculars. "The boat has radar but it's more fun to check out the water with these."

A few minutes later, Sara shrieked with delight when she spotted one dolphin, then another, and suddenly, three were flipping into the air about fifty yards from the boat. For ten minutes, they enjoyed a private display of wild dolphins leaping into the air, poking curious noses toward the boat, and swimming alongside the boat. Sara jumped from one side to the other, actually talking to the creatures when they swam near the boat.

Grissom was quietly thrilled she was enjoying the trip.

A short time later, they were in teal blue water watching pelicans skim across low waves. Silvery mackerel glinted like mirrors in the sun. The rugged coastline of the island came into their view and, it seemed, marine life increased.

Grissom slowed the boat as Sara's excitement grew. The water was so clear one could see fifty feet below; the cliffs plummeting into the ocean provided a dramatic backdrop of rugged terrain. She could see kayakers in brightly colored slivers near the shore.

"This is a calm day," Grissom said. "It can be rough—there are several sheltered coves and sandy beaches but I've never visited any of them."

Sara was quiet as she watched the ocean's surface; they rounded the northern point of the island and headed into the last twenty miles or so to the marina. Appreciating her silence, Grissom concentrated on the radar as well as attentively watching gigantic container ships enter and leave Los Angeles ports.

Grissom was pleased beyond words with Sara's quick adjustment to the boat. Her 'sea legs' came naturally and her interest in marine life—her ability to recall a wide variety amazed him—especially since she'd been living in a desert for years.

He maneuvered the boat into a channel for incoming vessels and with Sara by his side, pointed to landmarks on the shore.

"The house is over there—near enough to walk to the marina," he said. "Living here, I never think about being in a city. It's quiet, off the path enough to be a small neighborhood." Smiling, he leaned over and kissed her, thinking the trip had been one of the best days of his life.

When they arrived at his rented slip, he docked the boat with ease; Sara dropped the fenders and helped tie ropes. Grissom could not stop smiling as he showed her the process for securing the vessel.

"It's a quick walk—I don't take much back and forth—laundry and any food that might spoil, but we can come back for that." He indicated her suitcase and his bag. Then he seemed to run out of words.

He went through motions, checking ropes, checking locks, checking storage areas. Sara waited, watching.

Finally, she said, "I'm going to have to find a bathroom if we stay here much longer!"

With that, Grissom climbed to the dock, insisting he could pull her case and carry his duffle. They followed a sidewalk to a locked gate where he punched in numbers on a keypad.

A narrow sidewalk entered into a neighborhood of houses with no lawns but flowers in pots and hanging over trellises. Occasionally, Grissom pointed to glimpses of water—the ocean or canals as they crossed a foot-bridge to make a left turn on another narrow alley. The houses were a mix of styles, some new, modern designs; others were best described as cottages built decades earlier.

"The place isn't fancy," Grissom finally said. "My mother purchased two places—a house and a store—while I was in college when the area was," he chuckled, "ready for demolition or restoration. Restoration won—cleaned up the canals, people started moving in to restore. She sold the art gallery when she moved to Vegas but she kept this place, thinking she might return." He waved a hand at a small yellow house trimmed in brown. "Here we are."

Reaching into a flower pot filled with rocks, he eventually found a key wrapped in a plastic bag. "I—I leave it here—it's a safe neighborhood."

The door opened and he hauled the bags inside, waving for Sara to enter. He opened blinds and windows and within minutes, stale air had been replaced by a salt-scented breeze.

Sara remained in the middle of the room, turning slowly, taking in what surrounded her. Her thoughts included the word "quaint". The kitchen, dining room and living room took up most of the ground floor.

Grissom pointed to a door, saying, "Bathroom and laundry room—but give me a minute to turn on the water."

As he disappeared, Sara opened a door to find a laundry room the size of a small closet. Another door was the bathroom but she remained where she was, waiting for Grissom to return. Stairs went from living room up to the second floor.

The opposite wall from where they had entered was all windows and sliding doors; the other walls were bare except for several maps and one framed butterfly collection. The rest of it—furniture, rugs, lamps, the faded wallpaper, the pastel color of the walls—could only be described as—she bit her lip to suppress a laugh—Betty Grissom.

 _A/N: Looks like this will be a longer story-so read, review = new chapter! And there will be more conversation about that journal!_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: A short chapter...enjoy!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 9**

 _When love is truly right…it lives from year to year…_

The green refrigerator, the chintz fabric on the long sofa, the floral towel in the bathroom—Sara knew these had belonged to her mother-in-law—in Vegas Betty Grissom had furnished a very contemporary-style, uncluttered condo. This house revealed a different flair, an informal, comfortable home.

A small room next to the staircase was filled with boxes; she recognized twenty that she had packed and sent to this address. She could glimpse a desk and several bookcases amid stacked boxes.

Grissom murmured, "I—I haven't done much about putting things away."

Upstairs, two bedrooms, an unmade bed in one indicated use, and a bathroom, clean, bright areas still retained the impression of Grissom's mom. Both bedrooms opened to a balcony overlooking the canal.

As he showed Sara around the house, Grissom kept offering apologies for shortcomings—no food in the kitchen, books stacked in a corner, boxes filled a bedroom, the unmade bed, no space for her things. He swept books off the sofa and threw them on a chair.

Finally, Sara said, "Stop, Gil!" She put her hand on his arm. "It doesn't matter! This is your home—we will work it out."

She had been looking at his DVD collection. Softly, she laughed, "Your music taste hasn't changed."

"No," he said as he stepped away from her. "Sara—you know—you remember—you've always known how I am not very good at—about us. You and me—I mean, sometimes I'm speechless."

She started to tease him before realizing he was serious. His fingers came together in a familiar gesture of his nervousness.

"Tell me," she said. She tucked her hands into her pockets.

"You read my journal—I—you haven't said anything."

Smiling briefly at his uneasiness, she said, "I read enough to know you love me—I…" her hand wiped across her mouth and she turned to look out of the windows, an attempt to hide her own nervousness "I've always worried that—that I wasn't good enough for you—for anyone to love. When you—when you returned for Heather, I—I thought it was because you loved her." She finished in a rush of words.

"Oh, Sara," Grissom's voice was a whisper. He stepped toward her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "We've been in a quagmire of our own making. I never stopped loving you."

She did not meet his eyes when she said, "Why did you file for divorce? I never wanted it," she whispered.

He kissed her, gently, quickly, and then let her go. Reaching into the refrigerator he brought out two bottles of carbonated flavored water, handed one to her, and guided her to the sofa.

Once settled, bottles opened, and sitting next to one another, Grissom said, "I was jealous." When she started to speak, he quieted her with a raised hand. "When my mother died—and you were so kind to her during her last days—after her funeral, when everyone was at the house—you were busy, talking to everyone, making sure everyone had food and drinks. The house was—is beautiful. And you had done all of it."

Sara opened her mouth again but said nothing.

He continued, "Once I returned to Peru—I obsessed over—it was my own nightmare—that you had found another life. I would wake up at night thinking about you. I was so afraid the next phone call would be a 'Dear John' kind of call. So—so I stopped calling or I'd call when I knew you'd be working. I stopped talking."

"Gil—I've never…"

"No—no—let me finish. One day, I woke up and decided I would let you go—set you free. I thought it for the best. A preemptive move before I heard it from you. And—and when you didn't say anything…"

Sara interrupted. Quietly, she said, "I was stunned—I thought we could fix anything—whatever had gone wrong! I could never figure out what I'd done!" She laid her head on his shoulder. "I was devastated. Threw myself into work—did not tell anyone until I got in trouble—that we had separated."

"What kind of trouble?"

Sara made a quiet groan. "A very—angry—horrible man planted a lot of evidence suggesting I'd killed someone. It all worked out—thanks to Nick and Greg and D.B., Morgan and Finn. They worked to prove I couldn't have done it." She shrugged, saying, "At the time, I—I was at a low point—I think I could have killed the guy."

Grissom tightened his arm around her shoulders. He said, "Why didn't you call—when did this happen?" He reached for her hand, saying, "We do have a lot to catch up on."

For several minutes, they were quiet.

"You know," he said, "Heather and I are friends—we've never been lovers."

Quietly, Sara laughed. "I never asked that question."

"I've never been great with most social interactions—you know that, always the loner—that part of my brain doesn't work like—like most brains. The first time I met Heather, it was the first time I'd ever had an opportunity to—to study—to learn about—about what she did. She seemed to recognize shared characteristics—it's her business to study others. And after awhile, she helped me deal with—with—what to say to others in social situations."

His fingers threaded between Sara's. "Please, know the truth—Heather and I talked; we drank tea. We never slept together. We never had a safe word because we never did anything—I couldn't—and she never asked."

"Stop. You said…"

It took several seconds for him to understand; then he said, "Stop is never used as a safe word. My use of 'stop' was meant as—for you to stop thinking…" Softly, he laughed. "Again, we were going in different directions."

Turning so he could face Sara, he said, "I did ask Heather questions about how to open up to you—us—and eventually, she knew about us. I do owe her for opening my mind—making me recognize I had a heart-—I could love you. It has been my own shortcomings that—that I let jealousy and selfishness almost destroy us."

With that, she leaned to him, taking his face between her hands, and, said, "I love you with every cell in my body," before she kissed him.

His first thought was how delicious she tasted after drinking strawberry flavored water.

 _A/N: Let us hear from you! We know some of you have different thoughts about Heather...but in this story, she and Grissom did not! Thanks for reading!_


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who reads and reviews!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 10**

 _After all the stops and starts…We keep coming back to these two hearts_ …

Sara wasn't afraid to sleep; she just wanted to make up for lost time. She reached for an apple on the bedside table and took two bites, thinking as she chewed. There was so much to do—she'd left a house and car in Vegas. A full refrigerator. Plants that needed water. Not that she regretted leaving—she knew she had done the right thing; probably the most impulsive thing she had ever done. In minutes, she had made the decision to change her life; to go for love.

She rolled over and checked the little clock by the bed. Almost certain they had slept for two hours, she wiggled and cuddled against the warm sleeping man beside her.

They had spent the afternoon doing necessary things—like shopping for food and briefly meeting his neighbor, an elderly woman who had known Betty, and a quick walk back to the boat to retrieve perishable food and laundry. Then they had put clean linens on the bed at the house and promptly jumped between the sheets.

A quickie, they agreed, before eating dinner. It had lasted longer than a quick romp and left both physically hungry for food and emotionally hungry for more intimacy. Both laughed about a long stretch without sex. It was the first time either had really laughed since she'd appeared on the dock in San Diego. Their laughter carried through the meal; a quick preparation of pasta and sauce with added mushrooms and a fresh baguette.

The bathroom was hers for a long time as she took a steaming shower in a tub which she was certain was original to the house. When she stepped into the bedroom, she caught Grissom, wrapped in a towel, hair damp, changing sheets again.

She was surprised because she had not noticed another shower.

"Outside—beside the deck—another shower." Seeing her face, he laughed. "It's well hidden—and I don't run inside bare-ass!"

After that, and after he folded the fresh sheet back, it did not take long for both to be in bed. A spacious bed, comfortable, clean, surrounded on two sides by tall windows with blinds that covered the bottom section but opened up to the night sky caused Sara to blink away tears. She felt she was floating on a cloud.

She had been greedy; her mouth roamed his body, licking a taunt nipple, sucking hard enough to leave a mark on his neck. Her hands played across his abdomen, cradled his butt, and gently squeezed his balls until he groaned. When her lips and tongue took his erect penis, he gasped quickly as his knees jerked and legs quivered.

"Sara, please—I can't take this—not tonight," his words pleaded as he tugged her up. Rolling so he was on top, he smiled. "As much pleasure as you can give, I want us to be this way—I want to be inside you, feel you, watch as you explode with passion."

Smiling, remembering her astounding and breathtaking climax, she placed the tip of her tongue against his ear and flicked it several times. He twitched. She did it again, faster, and got a response.

She watched as his gold-tipped eyelashes fluttered open; clearly, she could see his pupil, dark against the blue.

His reaction was to turn to her, doing a wiggle as their hips met, before saying, "You still don't sleep, do you?"

"We've slept enough," she said with a giggle. "Let's have sex."

He laughed. "I may have a little catch in my get-along."

Sara felt the solid shaft touching her lower belly. "Doesn't feel like there's a catch in what's down there."

Another chuckle. Kissing her first, he said, "You are going to be the death of me—I'm—not—accustomed to—all this…" His words were cut off by Sara's mouth as she kissed him.

Pulling away, Grissom said, "Where's the apple? You taste like an apple!"

She reached for the apple and let him take one bite, replacing it on the table. She watched him chew as he watched her; their eyes sparkling as they silently and alluringly communicated desire.

When she kissed him, it was to taste and explore him beginning with his mouth, moving to nibble his ear, and then his throat. It was not long before he shifted, rolling her to her back so she was beneath him.

"You are like a drug to me," he growled. One hand moved down her leg, stroking the inside of her thigh. "What have you been thinking?"

Surprised by the question, Sara smiled. "We've spent most of our time together dealing with death, killers, a few mad men—our share of mad women—and I'm ready to do something different. I'd like to be with you on that boat you've got."

His hand continued stroking her leg, lightly, as he watched her face. "I love you, Sara Sidle. You really would move here—this house isn't like the one in Vegas."

"I like this house very much."

He kissed her, a kiss that promised the future. He seemed to know exactly where to touch her, his fingertips discovering sensitive places until she groaned.

Breathing escalated as his mouth found hers again with a slow, melting intimacy that sent a shiver through Sara's body. Long strokes of his palm moved from her thigh to the apex of her legs; fingers threaded into her curls.

His hungry, soul stealing kisses were enough to cause weakness in a lesser woman, but Sara responded with blazing strength. Her hands in his hair kept their lips locked until she gasped for oxygen and he moved to her chin and then her neck as she breathed deeply.

Moving his mouth lightly against her skin, coasting up one breast, into the valley and onto the next, he opened his mouth and used his tongue to circle the nipple. Provoking an unbearable sensitivity, Sara's hips lifted as passion flamed from her toes to her brain.

His strong, slightly-roughened fingers were against her stroking her tender skin, finding her swollen bud, parting her folds and fondling her with delicate, tantalizing purpose—as if he were playing with petals of a half-open rose.

A soft groan and a slight shift in position put Sara in place to feel his swollen erection, hard and hot against her thigh. She made another shift, moving her legs to hug his thighs. In an instant, his fingertips were causing her to rock upward and with each rise of her hips, she felt his hardness pressing deeper. And then he was fully inside her, moving with explicit thrusts to sink into her body.

Their gazes held as Grissom moved in a careful rhythm. He whispered, "I've missed you every day," before kissing her with such compassion that tears suddenly flooded Sara's eyes. Passion rose and tears disappeared as she lifted with his strokes. Her head fell back as a hot flush flooded her body.

She knew she groaned as her orgasm exploded in a surge of waves, yet she was completely aware of the hands gripping her bottom, of his sex throbbing inside her, of her name whispered over and over as his own climax reached its peak.

Later, they finished the apple and moved to the deck to watch the sun rise in its glorious pink and yellow, orange and red, before becoming a white brightness that seemed spotlight their space on earth.

And they talked—of Vegas and the house, about the work he had been doing and they would continue to do.

"Let's get married—first," Grissom suggested. "Let's fly to Vegas—invite our old friends to—to meet us for an official ceremony." He saw her frown and the slight twist of her mouth. "Not a wedding but a—a party. You know they would love it."

Sara yielded. She had left in a hurry, leaving the lab short-handed. Nodding, she said, "A party—I'd go for that. Everyone would come." She laughed, saying, "Just to see if it's true—that we really did get married—again."

 _A/N: We appreciate hearing from you-thank you for your encouragement! More to come..._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Moving on with what happened after the sail into the sunset!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 11**

 _I guess it's meant to be forever you and me…after all._

It was a calm morning, the air cool off the ocean but warm and sunny on the elevated deck of the house Betty Grissom had purchased many years ago. Sara was fairly certain they were sitting in chairs her mother-in-law had purchased; her judgment coming from the worn and rough cushions they had spread towels over to make the chairs comfortable.

She reached toward the next chair and, wordless, her hand was taken, given a squeeze and gently held.

Surprising to both, they discovered—or rediscovered—their enjoyment of quietness. Or maybe it was meditation or contemplation or simply unwinding from several days of an unexpected direction in life; whatever it was, they discovered quiet time with a book in hand, no need for conversation, provided a peaceful pause.

In three days, they had fallen into a routine, quickly remembering how they had lived and shared life in another place. Sara learned about Grissom's work; a VHF radio in one of the bedroom's scanned several channels used by vessels along the coast and was the way he communicated with others in the organization.

And Sara had called Greg Sanders telling him of their plans to return to Vegas—to sell the house and to marry. Three minutes later, Catherine Willows called.

After an unusually boisterous greeting, she quickly moved to say: "You're getting married! Would you consider a wedding at the casino—it has several beautiful venues…"

"No, no thank you, Catherine," Sara answered, laughing at Catherine's ability to propose arrangements on a moment's notice. "We'll get married at the court house and have a party—a small party—with friends."

Grissom was sitting next to her; she heard a quiet chuckle.

Catherine changed strategy. She said, "The party will be at my house—will you agree to that? I know everyone you'd want to invite—if I don't, Greg does, right? I can arrange everything—you two just show up."

Sara had switched to speaker mode and Grissom was smothering his laughter. He mouthed "Tell her okay."

Catherine did not stop for a breath as she continued. "I can get it catered—no problem. What about morning? Give me a week to get it set up. My mother and Lindsay will be thrilled to help."

At the mention of Lindsay, Sara remembered a debt she owed the young woman. Smiling, she agreed to Catherine's arrangement, adding, "Not a big party. Just people from the lab."

With vague assurances of invitations and definite suggestions for food, Catherine continued the conversation for fifteen minutes with Sara mumbling affirmative answers most of the time.

She was explicit about one thing. "No wedding cake—I'm not a blushing bride!"

Grissom had laughed until Sara pitched a pillow at his face. He responded by putting on a fake solemn face with only occasional twitches of his lips. When the call ended, before he could say anything, Sara said:

"I am repaying a debt—if Lindsay had not insisted I watch the video—if Catherine had not been willing to take the job…"

His eyebrows lifted in agreement. He said, "Yes, and I think you'll make a lot of people very happy." He scooted near her and kissed her. "We've got a week so let's do—let's do something fun. Out on the boat? See something in the city? The Griffith Observatory is fantastic—we could go up late in the day and stay until dark."

Sara took his head between her hands as she said, "I'm enjoying these quiet days—I—I haven't been bored with—with doing what we're doing." She kissed his nose before moving to his mouth.

Around three in the morning, she woke to a quiet voice interrupting a pleasant dream. "Wake up, honey. I've got coffee in a thermos and some food packed."

She was groggy with sleep but managed to ask, "What time is it?"

"It'll be light in a couple of hours. You're going to love this."

In twenty minutes, they had freed lines and were underway, heading northwest along the coastline. They idled out of the marina and then the diesel engine seemed to torque several times and suddenly, Sara's hair was blown away from her face with sudden speed.

The moon was in the western sky and as they left the shimmer of city lights, stars began to carpet a velvet dome.

Sara had a new, warmer jacket and pulled it around her for warmth, settling in for this mysterious sail. An hour passed before Grissom throttled the engine back and checked one of the glowing screens.

"It will be calm by sunrise," he said as he opened the thermos and poured coffee into its top.

Sara peeled a banana and broke it into two pieces. "What are we doing? Is it poachers or something happening in protected areas?"

Grissom smiled and ate his part of the banana. "I want you to put on your PFD just in case. It's not illegal activity but I want you safe just in case."

He had purchased an expensive floatation device that fit like a long collar around her neck. When wearing it, the collar automatically inflated for buoyancy when it hit water.

As she fitted the vest around her neck, she frowned. Grissom smiled again, saying, "You are going to love this—but sometimes the water can suddenly get rough."

Slowly, like plowing a field, he moved the boat back and forth across water that grew calmer; the boat was barely moving when Grissom pointed to the radar screen.

"Hold on and watch to the west."

Sara tightened her grip on the rail just as the boat was slapped with an unseen wave.

"What?"

"Keep watching!"

The moon was almost on the horizon, almost touching a calm sea, when she saw it.

"Holy Mary!"

Speeding toward them in the light of the moon was a tall, black vertical object that cleaved the surface and displaced a wall of water. At forty or fifty yards, Sara realized it was a dorsal fin coming straight at them, water streaming from the smooth back of an enormous animal.

She knew she yelled something just as a rush of water tilted the boat and she saw the white 'saddle patch' of an orca whale. Grissom pointed behind her, to the east, and she turned in time to see patches of white as the whale breached, the moon providing enough light to make no mistake in what they saw.

"An orca! That's an orca!" Sara was so excited she squealed.

"Keep watching—there's more."

Sara ran from one side of the boat to another watching the surface of the water. When she saw a water spout and then another, she jumped up and down and shouted like a teenage cheerleader while Grissom laughed. He wasn't going to mention the delightful cheering.

"There are two!"

"I think it's four," he said as he pointed to the radar screen. He had set the boat engine to a low idle so both moved around on deck watching the killer whales pop to the surface and then dive.

"They are feeding—big bait ball of fish being herded to—look at one o'clock—smallest one is learning how to fish."

The sky was pastel with sunlight now; the water appeared gray, shiny with ripples except where the orcas exploded jets of water in their hunt for a meal.

"How did you know?" For the first time since seeing the dorsal fin, Sara turned to Grissom. "You got us right in their path!"

He chuckled. "I spread the word I needed a special treat for a very special person and got a message this morning. They've been watched for several days near San Diego—one of the guys in the group followed them as they passed Catalina Island and radioed me to get out here fast."

She kissed him and, for a few minutes, whale watching was forgotten as he gave her a very passionate response.

 _A/N: Thank you for reading! A special appreciation to those who take time to review and comment!_


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: A new chapter! In Vegas!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 12**

 _Well, here we are again, I guess it must be fate…We've tried it on our own but deep inside we've known…We'd be back to set things straight._

"It always is beautiful from the air."

Sara laughed. "Teller—of Penn and Teller—calls it a popsicle stick. All of it is man-made, artificial air, and imported water."

"It does have beautiful mountains and the desert."

Grissom took her hand as the plane descended. He said, "I meant to get you another ring."

Smiling, Sara said, "I have the original in a box at the house." She squeezed his hand, adding, "I want to put it back where it belongs."

He padded his pocket, smiling. "Me, too."

When they stepped off the plane, Catherine and Greg and Jim Brass were waiting on the jet way and they exited down a stairway used by luggage handlers. Everyone talked at once, hearing little except for laughter. They stepped into a luxury conversion van which meant another topic for conversation as they left the airport.

During the drive, no one was quiet as sentences began by one, finished by another, and often interrupted by a quick diversion flowed between the old friends as if no time had passed since they had been together.

Several times, Sara attempted to ask about the planned party; each time Catherine or Greg responded with "Everything's ready" or "No need to worry."

The house appeared to be exactly as she'd left it. Plants were green and thriving, her car was clean, even the windows appeared to be clear of dust and dirt.

The driver placed their bags inside while their friends made excuses not to stay.

"Tomorrow," Catherine said, pointing to the driver, "this guy will pick you up at ten o'clock—you don't have to wait—it's all set up. And the party begins at eleven."

Greg added, "Kitchen is stocked with the usual—sorry, no steaks." He grinned at Grissom, winking as he said, "We could have a party for the groom tonight!"

Grissom shook his head and scowled. "Not my thing, Greg, besides, we've got things to do." Nodding toward the house, he said, "Get a house ready for the market. Decide what the lady wants to move."

"Are you really selling it?" Greg asked.

Sara answered, "Yes, we're going to live on the coast." A thought occurred to her. She asked, "Greg, you've always liked this house—aren't you ready to 'settle down' with someone?"

His face flushed at her question, suddenly at a loss for words but his interest was evident by the motion of his head.

Catherine said, "Let's go—these two have a lot to do between now and tomorrow morning!"

Quickly, they left, leaving Sara and Grissom somewhat dazed by the rapidity of their departure; at the same time, both were relieved to be left in the quiet house.

Grissom was surprised at the few changes Sara had made since he'd last been in the house.

"You—you kept this little guy," Grissom said as he picked up a small lion. "Leo the lion—we got him when we went to—to the Chateau Rouge on a Sunday morning."

Smiling, Sara was pleased he remembered their visit to the market on a beautiful spring day.

They wandered around the house for a while, talking about furniture and books, artwork and travel mementoes, what would definitely be moved and others mentally marked with 'maybe'.

"I'm not tied to the furniture," Sara said. "It belongs in a house like this—probably should stay if the right buyer agrees."

Grissom had been looking at books when he said, "Do you think Greg would like it? The house? Maybe you should make a deal that he couldn't turn down."

Sara smiled, saying, "Your name is also on the house—and we'd probably make a tidy profit in the market."

"We would—but do we need a big profit? This would be a good home for Greg and—and—is it Morgan?"

"Why don't we both do it? Tomorrow during the party—I'm almost afraid to show up. There's no way to know how Catherine is going to arrange things!"

"It will be fine." Grissom's head moved in the direction of several boxes stacked on the sofa. "Don't you think you should check out the new stuff before tomorrow?"

He had talked her into—insisted—that Sara get something new to wear and very reluctantly she had ordered one dress and two shirts with pants.

Sara laughed, saying, "I think I'll wear the blue and send the others back."

"Let me decide," he said as he walked to her, putting his arms around her in a hug. "You made this your home—do you think you can do the same with my mom's house?"

She snuggled against his shoulder. She said, "My home is where you are—and yes, I think we can make Betty's house our home."

The next morning, she wore the dress, a simple design with a long soft skirt of colorful flowers. Grissom insisted it was the perfect look for her and the red flowers matched his red tie. Sara could not argue with that so she wore the dress.

The driver arrived on time driving a shiny limousine and in minutes pulled into Catherine's driveway.

Sara looked at Grissom and for the first time, realized a plan she had not been party to was unfolding around her.

Quickly, Grissom said, "You said you'd go along—with—with whatever Catherine did. She arranged everything."

Silently, Sara nodded her head, took his hand and mumbled, "What have I gotten into?"

Catherine had opened the door; behind her Lindsay held a bouquet of white flowers. Sara recognized orchids and roses.

"Perfect timing!" Catherine said, "Everyone is here!"

Sara had to wonder who was here; there were only three cars in front of the house.

Lindsay, a broad smile across her face, handed Sara the bouquet as they walked through the house. She whispered, "You look beautiful!"

"Thank you," Sara said; determined to appreciate the girl's efforts. The house appeared empty; she thought there would be a few people here but perhaps the party was later.

Jim Brass was the first person she saw, turning to greet them at a wide doorway to a patio. Her eyes went beyond him, to the back yard, and the scene caused her breath to catch. She hesitated and felt Grissom's hand on her back. His lips brushed the back of her neck and then he whispered:

"Maybe it got out of hand but they all wanted to be here and—and—well, it's a wedding. Our wedding day."

She stopped, turned and kissed him, on the mouth, then gave him a wobbly smile. "I'm a bit overwhelmed here."

Sixty people, maybe more, were sitting in white chairs, standing around the pool; it appeared most of the lab had dressed up for a party.

Catherine's back yard had been transformed with yards of shimmering silver and diaphanous white fabric wrapped around tree trunks and draped over limbs. Flowers were everywhere—along a bridge that had been placed over the pool, hanging from trees, floating in the pool, on tables and the back of chairs.

Sara took a deep breath. It wasn't overdone, just more than she expected. And it was beautiful.

Catherine was standing nearby and Sara turned to her, saying, "This is beautiful, Catherine. You've—you've gone beyond friendship."

The two women hugged, briefly, before Catherine said, "You know I love you both. Now! Let's get this ceremony done! We've all waited for years to see this happen."

Sara was speechless as Grissom took her arm. He said, "Are you ready?"

She nodded and then thought of an important role in any wedding ceremony. "Who is going to marry us?"

Grissom raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I called an old friend several days ago. She's delighted to be here—Maddie Klein. Gave me an ear full for—for—you know—leaving you."

Catherine stepped outside and signaled someone who began to play music which quieted the crowd. It wasn't typical wedding music, Sara thought, which was good.

It was then Sara saw Greg and Morgan, Doc Robbins and his wife, Nick and Mandy—she stared as suddenly she understood one of the reasons for Nick's move to San Diego. Mandy had been there for several years.

As she turned to tell Grissom what she had discovered, Catherine motioned for them to move forward and the next few minutes seemed to be a dream as the two walked across the narrow bridge to a canopy of flowers and draped white fabric and Maddie Klien.

And in five minutes, for the second time, Sara Sidle married Gil Grissom. When they kissed, the cheers of their friends made such a festive and celebratory sound that Sara knew what it meant to be loved by these good and loyal friends.

When her husband whispered, "You have my heart" she knew she would spend the rest of her life with the man she loved.

 _A/N: And they are married! Your comments/reviews are appreciated-we are grateful for you!_


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: Enjoy!**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 13**

 _And after all that we've been through…it all comes down to me and you. I guess it's meant to be…forever you and me._

The sun had long moved passed noon, bringing the heat of the day into every corner of the back yard. A warm breeze rippled and waved the long silver and white fabric woven through the trees. In several places, large fans moved more air cooled by a mist of water.

"What a party," Gil Grissom sank into a chair and closed his eyes.

An overhead fan and the shade of the patio covering made the area a few degrees cooler yet unnoticed by the remaining guests.

Jim Brass, carrying two glasses containing an amber liquid, took the next chair and pushed one glass into the hand of his long-time friend. Chuckling, he said, "It's a good thing Catherine set it up as a morning party!"

Grissom's hand closed around the glass. "Thanks—I needed this at nine o'clock!"

"It was perfect—I was afraid both of you might bolt when you saw all that silver and white stuff floating among the trees!"

After a sip, Grissom leaned back so he could see the yard—and his wife who was talking to Catherine, her mother, Lindsay, and Morgan Brady. "She's a beautiful woman, Jim. I was a fool to leave her while I ran around the globe looking for—for what I had here."

Another quiet chuckle. "More than once, I've wondered why—but you're not the only man to make a mistake. And a very lucky man to get another chance."

Both men sighed, one an echo of the other, as they watched the laughing women.

Brass said, "It's good to see her laugh—she—she had a tough time for a while."

"I hope we have many days with laughter—and what a giggle she has—sweet—and when I hear it, I know she's happy."

Leaning forward, Brass quietly asked, "Why—was it that guy who stalked her? Sara told me—the one time I asked—you—you told her a divorce was in her best interests!" A scoffing laugh. "I'm not sure I've heard that one before—so—tell me. Why?"

Taking another sip from the glass, Grissom shook his head, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and said, "I got jealous—we'd talk. She would talk about work. I—I was jealous that she was here with others." He shook his head again, keeping his eyes on his wife. "I—I thought she'd be better off without me. Got my head stuck in a pit and forgot to look up—to crawl out and come home."

Brass tapped his fingers on the table. "She tell you about Basderic?"

Grissom glanced at Brass before returning his eyes to the figures across the yard. He asked, "Wasn't he the guy stalking the waitress at Frank's Diner? She told me about him."

"Did she tell you he stalked her? Tried to set her up—and nearly succeeded—with murder?" When Brass saw Grissom's face, he asked, "Has she told you any of this?"

Grissom's head moved side-to-side.

Brass' face went through several reactions before he said, "I don't think I'm the one who should tell this—but that's never stopped me before now. Basderic went after Sara—broke into the house, her mail, photographed her, and then arranged a meeting with a guy who ended up dead."

Grissom's attention was riveted on Brass; from anyone else he would think the story was based on rumor.

Brass continued, "She ended up in an orange suit being swept down after Basderic showed up with a beaten face claiming she had attacked him." He shrugged, "No one thought she had murdered a guy or beaten up another but it was a tough time for her."

"She never told me any of this."

"She won't. You know Sara—any time you ask how she's doing and she says 'I'm fine'—none of us knew you had filed for divorce until it came out during the investigation!" Brass chuckled as he reached for his glass and drained it. "You know, we've been buddies for a long time and sometimes I'm the ass and other times you are."

Trying to recover from the shocking revelation he had just heard, Grissom stared at Brass for several minutes before saying, "I—I should have been here. How—how did she manage?"

"Typical Sara—didn't miss a day of work. I was out of town when it all happened or I would have contacted you but when I got back we went out for dinner and talked. She never brought up that you had filed for divorce so I did. You should know she never said one negative word about you."

Again, Grissom shook his head. "I'll live the rest of my life making up for being such a stupid fool." He looked across the lawn where Nick and Greg had joined the women. He smiled, "I think she's happy—no, I know she's happy."

"She was ready to leave."

Grissom shrugged, saying, "I'm happy—I'm happy she left." Quietly, he laughed, "Did you know Lindsay gave her a tape of me talking to Heather? I'd said some things I could never say to Sara—things I should have said a long time ago."

Shaking with laughter, Brass said, "I watched that tape after Sara left. I knew when she took off it had to involve you—we all did." He tapped his empty glass to the one Grissom held and stood up. He said, "You are one lucky guy, Gil Grissom."

It was much later, when the newlywed couple had returned home and, exhausted, stretched across the bed, that Grissom said, "Tell me about Basderic."

Sara rolled to face him. Her mouth twisted into a thoughtful pucker as her eyes studied his face. She said, "Jim—he told you." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah." Lifting her hand, he twined his fingers with hers. "I should have been here."

She shook her head, looking away, as she said, "Ronald Basderic is a horrible man who is now sitting in the state prison and will probably never get out. He stalked a friend who was killed because she was afraid of him. I—and I should have left him alone but instead I got in his face." She made a sarcastic laugh before continuing, "He turned his malicious attention on me—something I did not know until much later. He managed to break into the house, tamper with sleeping meds I was taking, plant 'evidence'—even involve my mother in his cruelty."

Grissom reached to pull her closer but she held up her hand. "There's more—I thought you might—you might surprise me on my birthday so I went to dinner where we had talked about going. A man I'd met once showed up at my table—by that time I knew you were a no-show—and we ate cake and drank wine." Her eyes met his for a brief moment. "I wanted company—someone to talk to and he was available—so we talked for a while until you sent a text and I went back to my room, took a pill to sleep. The next morning Taylor Wynard was dead—stabbed with one of my steak knives. My hair was found in his shower. I appeared to be guilty of a murder."

"Oh, Sara…"

"I confronted Basderic—you know how my temper can be—and he showed up with a battered face saying I'd beaten him up. Well, I had nothing on me or my clothes to indicate I'd beat him up. And by the time the guys worked it out, swapped his bullets for blanks so I could set him up—well, it worked out. He'd killed Taylor and wanted to kill me because I'd helped Edie—the waitress at Frank's Diner—because I'd helped with a restraining order."

"If I had been here…"

She snuggled against his shoulder. "Or if I'd been with you. It happened—I'm not traumatized over it. I think it made me cross a line—life goes on."

"What happened with your mother?"

"Basderic got inside her care facility, provided alcohol which put her in the hospital. Told her I'd stabbed a man. It—the hospitalization—made me realize she was very ill—started spending more time with her and six months later, she died in her sleep."

"Do you miss her?"

His question caused Sara to lift her head; her eyes met his. "I miss her. I miss your mom. Both became—I think of both as friends."

"My mother would write me letters—scolding me for staying away, telling me that you visited her. I'd feel guilty and then—I wasn't a very good son to her in the end."

Sara's fingers threaded through his hair. She said, "Both would have enjoyed this day. Neither one forgave us for getting married in Costa Rica."

"My mother would have been right in with Catherine adding more flowers and more food."

Sara propped an elbow on his chest, smiling as she said, "Isn't this supposed to be our wedding night? Shouldn't we be doing something other than talking about our mothers?"

"Catherine's food package is in the frig. Maybe some spring rolls and puff pastry things."

Pushing up, Sara said, "Penne pasta and mac and cheese for me. Then we'll work on the other stuff newlyweds are supposed to do."

And she did.

Mandy, Morgan, and Lindsay had giggling fits when they had given her a beautifully wrapped package, telling her to open it later because it was something for her first night of wedded bliss. Sara was certain it was something naughty—and relieved to find two candles, an expensive box of chocolates, a bottle of honey, a bottle of sweet wine, and lacy lingerie that felt like a cloud.

She sent her husband to the guest bathroom to shower and, hurriedly, placed candles, candy and honey by the bed. After a quick shower, she grinned at her reflection in the mirror and giggled as she turned for a glance at her backside, covered in sheer rose-colored lace.

Grissom had been swift with his shower and when she walked into the bedroom, soft light providing a glowing radiance to the paleness of her skin, he quickly left the bed and gave her a melodious whistle.

"Your gift is better than mine," he said with a laugh. His fingers touched the black boxers as he turned to show her his backside. In white, 'Groom' was stamped across his butt. "And these…"

He picked up a small clear bag holding blue candies. "I think it's supposed to mean—something."

Sara joined him, wrapping her arms around his neck as she said, "I always heard it was the green ones that made you sexy." She laughed, "But maybe the blue means something special for men."

Then his mouth met hers with a hunger that ignited a desire of need; hot yet tenderly, he kissed her until she was breathless. His lips never left hers as they moved to the bed where he had already folded bedcovers back.

Cool sheets touched her bare legs; his warm hand caressed her shoulder, her arm, gently moving along her body. He was already aroused. Tugging at the silk belt that held the lacy garment closed, he smiled.

"Dear God, you are beautiful."

Sara laughed softly. "You need to admire the lingerie—I'm certain I've never owned anything this luxurious."

Chuckling quietly, he said, "You should wear it often." His hands pushed it away from her shoulders and it fell away. He kissed her shoulder, across her clavicle to her neck, and up to her mouth.

Grissom could feel Sara's strong hands in his hair, smoothing, stroking his neck and shoulders. He had wanted her all day and now felt as though he would explode. After a moment, he pulled away, letting his eyes ravish her body, trim and lean, yet shapely.

Sara watched him, eyes wide. "I want you," she said in a husky voice.

Quickly, he slipped off the 'groom' boxers and lay down next to her, taking her in his arms, he began to kiss her again. Her eyes, her lips, her ears, whispering "I want to kiss every part of you."

Sara smiled; he had used those words before. "I'd like that," she murmured.

He slid down the bed and brought his mouth to her core. His tongue flicked several times and her response was a shudder and a soft cry of his name. It sent an unabashed desire flaming from his brain to his spine, and before he could stop himself, he was astride her.

Threading fingers into her dark hair; he covered her mouth with his, touching his tongue to hers. Bracing his hands on either side of her, he raised himself up, staring into her dark welcoming eyes.

"Yes," she whispered.

His hands left her hair and moved to her back, then her butt, lifting her closer, fitting her body to his, sliding inside her easily.

She welcomed him with her warm, supple body, thrusting up to him. Her legs moved to wrap around his back, as high as they would so he could sink deeper into the warm, soft core of her. Quickly, they found a rhythm.

Grissom thought his heart was going to burst. His mouth found Sara's, and holding her tightly, they came to a climax together in shared ecstasy.

A while later, eating chocolates in bed while they mulled the bottle of honey on the bedside table, Grissom asked, "Do you think we're supposed to pour it on the chocolate?"

His question caused Sara to giggle which caused him to wrap her in a crushing embrace, murmuring "There is no sweeter sound than hearing you laugh."

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! We enjoy getting your comments!_


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: Enjoy!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 14**

 _After all the stops and starts…we keep coming back to these two hearts._

Two weeks later, Grissom was standing at the console monitoring the radar screen for anything of interest. Sara was standing by his side holding binoculars to her eyes.

An azure sky, the clear blue of deep water, a salt-laden breeze worked to make the perfect day for cruising the ocean and showing Sara the workings of the boat. He enjoyed having her with him; yet, he found it difficult to tell her how much it meant to him that she was here, on this boat, in the house with him, making a home together. She seemed to feel his gaze and moved the binoculars, smiling at him.

"Quiet out here today," she said.

"It can go weeks like this—then something happens."

Today was their first day on the water since returning from Vegas. It would be several days before boxes and furniture arrived and having donated most of the old furnishings until the house was almost empty, they had decided to leave land in a quest for an adventure. Or a leisurely cruise on a beautiful day.

She laughed, asking, "What's the most interesting thing you've done—seen?"

He gave her a teasing grin and said, "Other than almost getting arrested in San Diego with shark fins? Seeing the western garbage dump up close—it's unbelievable and what I saw was on the surface and around the edge of it."

"All of it plastic?"

"Tiny pieces—takes four to five years for a plastic bottle thrown on a beach in California to reach the garbage patch." Waving his hand, indicating the boat, he said, "That's why I decided to buy a boat. Most of what I do—what the organization does—is pick up trash."

Laughing, she asked, "What's the weirdest trash you've found?"

"Several of us pulled a drift net out that was over a mile long. There was so much caught in it—all kinds of fish, sea turtles, several dolphins—that was an experience I don't want to repeat. I've pulled lots of bottles, a few shoes, plastic bags from everywhere—oh! Weirdest is toothbrushes—I've filled bags and bags—those things never disintegrate!"

A soft ping came from the radar screen; Grissom turned to it, pointing as he said, "Turtle, I think—looks like an old one. Moving slow."

Binoculars returned to Sara's eyes as she scanned in the direction he had pointed.

"I see it!" Flinging the binoculars on the console, she turned suddenly and leaped for the ladder.

Since he was adjusting and turning the boat, Grissom missed the few minutes it took for Sara to reach the boat's deck. He heard a shout, certain he had misunderstood until he turned in time to see his wife jump out of the boat.

"She's out of the boat—she jumped out of the boat!" He shouted words into air. The water was calm, clear, and, he knew, cool at this time of year.

Quickly, he hit the kill switch for the engine and rushed down to the deck. Looking into the nearly flat water, he could see her swimming in a direct path to intercept the turtle.

It was huge—the turtle—and swimming slowly. And then his eyes made out the blue blob trailing behind the turtle. No, he realized, the blue was attached to the massive turtle.

Knowing she probably would not hear his words, he called anyway, "You need a knife—get back here! You'll drown." Lowering his voice, he added, "Or freeze to death."

She kept swimming and as her arm cleared the water, he saw what she held in her hand. Shaking his head, he lifted the boarding ladder and dropped it over the rail. Then he took one of the boat's dock fenders, uncoiled the rope, and waited.

As Sara hit the water, feet first, she sucked in a deep breath of air before submerging. At least she had thought to take off her shoes and jacket before jumping in—and grabbed a knife. She hoped the knife was sharp.

By the time she'd made a dozen strokes, she heard Grissom shouting at her. Another few strokes and she touched the leathery shell she was pursuing, softer than a land turtle—and much larger.

The plastic bag attached to his front flipper served as a kind of balloon, keeping the massive sea turtle near the top of the water. He showed no fear of his new companion as Sara worked the knife under the plastic, cutting it away.

Suddenly, as if he knew he was free, the turtle pushed away and dived, leaving Sara treading water and holding the remnant of the bag. At that point, she looked back at the boat and her husband, holding the bag in a triumphant wave.

After her adrenaline rush, she suddenly realized the temperature of the water was too cool for a comfortable swim. Grissom whistled, pointed to the fender, and threw it in her direction.

Once she grabbed the fender, he towed her to the ladder. Her teeth were chattering so hard she could not talk; her entire body shivered when she reached for the ladder and if not for Grissom's firm grip, she would have fallen back into the water.

He was prepared, popping an emergency thermal blanket around her shoulders as soon as she touched the deck.

"Let's get your wet clothes off," he said as he tugged on her pants. "And—next time—don't jump off the boat! Not in your clothes—that's why we have wet suits!" He was laughing but concern worried the edges of his words.

Her lips were trembling from cold yet she managed a broad smile. "Did you see? He was enormous! And he knew when the bag was gone!"

"They can dive several thousand feet—and this one has been around for a while." He took the plastic bag she had wrapped in her hand and spread it out. "They think plastic bags are their favorite food—jellyfish. At least he didn't swallow this one."

They both looked at the name of a well-known chain store stamped on the bag before Grissom balled it up and stuck it inside a deck hamper.

"You need something hot to drink—and a hot shower," Grissom said as he helped her stand. "Shower—and I'll bring hot tea."

On shaking legs, Sara managed to get into the galley and climbed down to the shower. In minutes, she was standing in a spray of warm water that helped to stop her tremors. She remained under the flow until Grissom opened the door and handed her a cup of tea loaded with honey.

"And a peanut butter sandwich," he added as he passed her a towel.

Sara was smiling as she wrapped the towel around her body. "That was so—so awesome. Overused word, but in this case, I think," she laughed, "it's totally appropriate!"

When she stepped out of the shower, he wrapped arms around her, saying, "Don't do that again! Scared me seeing you jump off the boat."

Laughing, Sara kissed him and then said, "I knew you wouldn't leave me in the ocean!"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." She kissed him again. "Sorry I got so excited—I was afraid he'd get away!" Her forehead puckered; she asked, "What would you have done if you'd been alone?"

He shrugged. "Called for help—a few have jet-skis and could've gotten here fairly quickly. And then I'd have followed and watched—pretty much what I've done when I've found something like that." He chuckled, saying, "I'm not much for jumping into the deep blue with a knife." His mouth lifted in a smile, eyes crinkled with enjoyment. "It can be exciting—but next time put on the wet suit—you'll stay warmer."

He helped her dry off, found dry clothes, and as she dressed heard the radio ping with an incoming message.

"Check it out," Sara said. "I think I'll get more tea before coming up."

Several minutes later, she joined him on the top deck where he was checking the radar screen.

Pointing his finger to the west side of the radar, Grissom said, "There's a vessel out there—probably a container ship—that's not in normal shipping lanes. One of our group spotted it earlier and thinks there's something odd going on. We are closer to it—maybe cross its path and check it out."

"Illegal fishing?"

Grissom shook his head, saying, "Too large for fishing—more likely smuggling something and waiting for a smaller boat."

"How dangerous is this?"

"Oh, we don't intercept—we call the Coast Guard if it turns out to be suspicious. Most of the time, it's a ship that's off course, mechanical problems—something like that."

Pointing to the west, he said, "This is a good way to learn—take over the helm for a while."

Sara's finger touched her chest as she asked, "Me? Drive a boat?"

"It's easy—I'll be right here."

A few minutes later, an outline appeared on radar; its shape indicated a small container ship or freighter.

Following Grissom's directions, Sara pointed the bow toward the blip. She was amazed at the distance covered as the wind blew in her face; not daring to glance at her husband who was on the radio, she kept the boat on a path that would cross behind the ship's route.

Sara could hear an excited voice on the radio; Grissom tried several times to break in and then they both heard, clearly:

"Humans in the water! Humans in the water!" Desperate words followed by a rapid staccato of numbers; without a word, Sara stepped back and Grissom took over the steering. The numbers were latitude and longitude and Grissom touched several switches slightly changing the boat's direction.

Voices from the radio had suddenly multiplied, including an authoritarian voice identified as 'Coast Guard'.

Grissom said, "Go below and pull out that stack of emergency blankets—not sure what's happened but it can't be good."

By the time Sara returned to the flybridge, Grissom had slowed the boat so it was barely moving. She could see the churning white-capped waves and frothy foam wake left by the freighter.

And then she saw what Grissom had already seen. Her breath caught for a few seconds as her eyes recognized and her brain communicated to voice.

She said, "Bodies."

 _A/N: More to come! Around 20 chapters for this story. We appreciate hearing from you._


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: Thank you for reading!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 15**

 _And after all that we've been through…It all comes down to me and you._

"Stay in the boat, Sara." His words were brusquely terse.

She had nodded, not that Grissom noticed as he had killed the engine and returned to the radio, speaking rapidly at the same time he was digging for a box underneath the console. After a few minutes, he seemed to remember Sara was standing beside him.

"Okay," he said as he gave her a quick smile, touching her arm as he added, "Sorry—I was…"

"Tell me what to do." A gentle smile, understanding this situation was no harmless sea turtle, as she leaned to kiss him. "I counted four."

He gave her the box, saying, "Cyalume sticks—glow in the dark—if we can attach one or two to each body."

She nodded, understanding the yellow sticks would be a marker.

Grabbing a long pole with a large flexible loop on one end, Grissom started to leave the flybridge when Sara said, "I might be able to do this while you handle the boat and stay by the radio."

Hesitating a few seconds before handing the pole to her, he said, "The Coast Guard should be here soon."

As soon as he'd said the words, they both looked to the sky, to the east, as they heard the whirring sound of a helicopter in the distance. He returned to the controls as Sara climbed down to the deck and within minutes, he maneuvered the boat to the nearest body.

It took her several tries but she was able to tie glow sticks around the leg of one man.

"He's been dead several days, I think," she called to Grissom.

The boat turned slowly as Sara moved into position to catch the second body; appearing to be male, she was able to turn the body face up as she tied another glow stick to the leg.

"Appears Asian," she yelled over her shoulder.

Grissom picked up the binoculars as he relayed her comments over the radio; once she had loosened the loop, he eased the boat in the direction of a third body.

Faster with the third one, Sara tied another glow stick to an arm and released the loop. Unexpectedly, the body moved; she jumped and made a startled yelp, quickly realizing another body, face up, had bumped number three.

"Oh! Dammit! Gil!" Sara shouted. A woman's body was tangled in white rope; her dress was washed up, exposing legs and a very pregnant belly. Throwing the long pole to the deck, she leaned over the rail, her arms flaying in an effort to reach the woman.

Suddenly, she felt a firm hand grab the back of her pants as Grissom said, "She hasn't been dead long." He pointed to the hand waving in the water.

"You got me?"

"I've got you, babe."

Sara glanced back, smiling, before she plunged head first over the rail, her feet leaving the deck, but held firmly by her husband's strong hands.

She had seen her share of dead bodies but, as she reached for the young woman, the white oval face, long black hair, the distended belly of pregnancy, caused an unexpected ache in her chest. Sara's hands reached under the arms of the floating woman, circled her chest, and locked her fingers together.

As she was pulled upward, she heard Grissom grunt with effort until her feet touched the deck. He shifted to lift the body over the rail as Sara continued to pull. As they laid the body on the boat's deck, the right hand moved, weakly, to touch Grissom's sleeve.

"She's not dead," Sara whispered as she gathered the young woman into her arms, hugging her back to her chest.

"Blanket," Grissom left for ten seconds and returned with an emergency blanket. Rolling the young woman on her side, he patted her back for a minute, hoping for a response—vomiting, a sharp intake of air—anything to indicate life.

From Sara's viewpoint, she watched the thin fabric of the woman's dress move—like puppies under a sheet—as Grissom swaddled her with the blanket. She pressed fingers against the neck of the young woman, feeling a faint-to-none existent pulse.

"The baby's moving," she said as Grissom finished tucking the blanket around the woman's head.

"I'll get on the radio—the helicopter is staying with the ship—Coast Guard has a boat coming. We need a medevac."

Sara nodded; she had never been one to coo over infants or to have much interest in another woman's pregnancy, but this young woman, the heartbreaking and appalling events that had put her so near death, caused tears to sting her eyes. The woman's face was gray, her dark lashes did not move. A vestige of first aide training popped into Sara's mind—elevate the feet. She looked around, scooted to a storage bin, and found an extra life jacket. Folding it, she placed it under the woman's feet causing the emergency blanket to fall away.

Toenails painted bright pink; for a second, the sight caused more tears but a second look caused puzzlement. Not just painted pink but the toes, the entire foot had been carefully groomed. The woman had a recent pedicure.

Sara wrapped the exposed foot and moved back to the head. She heard Grissom talking on the radio as she placed her hands on the woman's gray face hoping the skin-to-skin contact would bring a response.

"Come on, honey. Wake up—you're okay—safe with us," she murmured near the woman's ear.

The woman's eyes flickered, not quite open.

Sara moved a lock of dark hair away, saying, "You're safe. We'll get you warm and back among the living." She doubted any of her words were understood.

Grissom arrived with a sleeping bag.

"Her eyes almost opened," Sara whispered. "She's so cold." Her hands rubbed circles on the woman's face.

Suddenly, the woman's eyes opened. She said, clearly, in English, "Take my baby." Her eyes didn't close but life blinked away.

Sara and Grissom had seen life pass from a human; there was no great exhalation of breath, no bright lights. Her head did not slump aside in a dramatic end of life. In an instant, she was gone.

Pressing fingers on the woman's carotid, Sara felt nothing. Grissom pulled away the blanket, finding her hand, checking her wrist.

Softly, he said, "Look at her fingernails."

"Her toenails are the same pink." She wiped her hand across her eyes. "The baby will die, too." She looked at Grissom and then turned her eyes to the east where a small dot in the sky might be another helicopter.

Grissom stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife as he began to unwrap the dead woman. He said, "Get a couple of towels—something warm—and a bottle of alcohol."

Scrambling, Sara was back in a few seconds with towels, a fleece lined jacket, and a bottle of alcohol. "Have you ever done this before?" She took the knife and drenched it with alcohol.

Grissom's hand was gliding over the woman's belly. Quietly, he said, "Years ago—on a monkey. Both mother and baby survived."

Watching as his fingers felt solid bone, Sara placed the knife in his hand. Pressing firmly, he pushed the blade through flesh until it hit bone and then made a cut about four inches long. Blood was minimal; no heart to pump it. Again, cutting carefully, Grissom moved the knife upward for several inches.

"Baby is alive," he whispered.

With a press from his hand, the transparent amniotic sac appeared.

Sara, wonder and awe in her voice, said, "Wow—look at that." A tiny hand, no larger than a poker chip, pressed against the membrane.

With the knife, Grissom made a small cut in the covering, placed one hand under the baby's head, the other under its butt and delicately lifted the baby from its mother.

Sara held one of the towels between her hands to accept the baby; a perfectly oval face, ten tiny fingers and ten toes, perfectly formed baby lay quietly in the towel hammock. Grissom took a corner of the towel and wiped the baby's face.

While she covered the baby with the fleece jacket, Grissom quickly tied a piece of rope around the umbilical cord and cut it. No need to tie a second place, he thought. Carefully, he wrapped the emergency blanket around the cold figure of the baby's mother.

For several long minutes, neither spoke as they watched the small infant breathe; its skin gradually coloring a pale pink.

"A girl," Sara whispered.

 _A/N: We appreciate hearing from you! Leave us a comment or word of encouragement! Let us know you are reading-and interested in GSR!_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N:** _A new chapter! Is Fanfiction sending notices when a new chapter is posted?_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 16**

 _Well, here we are again_ _  
_ _I guess it must be fate_ _  
_ _We've tried it on our own_ _  
_ _But deep inside we've known_ _  
_ _We'd be back to set things straight…_

"A girl," Grissom echoed Sara's words. "She's little." His hand found the infant's foot; his thumb scraped its length.

The baby's first toe bent upward while the other toes fanned out.

Grissom chuckled, saying, "Well, her Babinski reflex works."

"Poor baby—and her mother—how do you think they ended up in the water?"

Looking away, south toward the ship which was rapidly disappearing toward the horizon, Grissom shook his head. He said, "You know she was trying to get here to have her baby."

Sara said nothing for a few minutes. She could hear the helicopter droning in the distance. Without conscious effort, she cradled the baby against her chest.

"She got a pedicure—a manicure not many days ago."

Grissom gave a head nod in the direction of the body between them. He said, "Did you notice her—between her legs—she had been waxed."

"Like a bikini wax?" Sara's eyes widened with surprise. "Painted nails, a bikini wax—her hands and feet were soft," she sighed. "I'm not investigating those kinds of crimes, but it feels suspicious."

"All of it—these guys didn't jump off that ship for a quick swim."

Agreeing with his comment, Sara asked, "Help me up."

Grissom got to his feet and help her stand; in a few minutes, she had gotten comfortable with holding an infant. And, truth told, observing the baby was fascinating.

"When do babies need to eat—drink?"

Again, Grissom gave a quiet chuckle. "She'll be fine until the Coast Guard gets here." He pointed to the approaching second helicopter. "Better to be inside the cabin—those things can create a lot of chop and wind."

Once in the cabin, Grissom dampened a wash cloth with warm water and, as Sara held the baby, he gently wiped the infant's body. They managed to exchange the fleece jacket for a clean towel and wrapped the baby snuggly.

"She's so perfect," Sara whispered. As Grissom cleaned the baby, she had examined toes and fingers, touched tiny ears, and cradled the small head covered with dark downy hair.

"She needs a hat," Grissom said.

When Sara gave him a puzzled look, he added, "You lose heat from your head—she needs a cap."

"Oh! Right!" A full minute passed before she said, "A sock? You have a bunch with your underwear—an old one."

A minute later, he returned with a white sock, stretching it over his hands before putting it on the baby's head. His finger grazed her cheek.

"She's got that root reflex going on." Gently, he touched the infant's cheek again causing her to turn her face toward his hand.

"Does that mean she's hungry?"

He shrugged. "She's quiet—don't babies cry?" His fingers gently touched the wispy hair as the baby opened her eyes, barely, one slow blink, before making a tiny whimper. "We'll call her Shui."

Sara, surprised at his comment, looked at him in amazement before saying, "Shui? She's not ours to name, you know—and how did you come up with Shui?"

"Water—one of three words I know in Mandarin." He shrugged again. "We'll have her for a while—maybe an hour—who knows."

Smiling, Sara bent her head toward the baby's and snuggled her against her chest, inhaling the scent of a new human. She said, "There is something we…"

She stopped in mid-sentence, pivoting her head up and toward the deck.

Grissom heard it too; his head swiveled in the same direction.

The sharp crack of sound came over the smooth drone of the approaching helicopter, now quite close to the boat. Sara and Grissom had blocked the advancing noise as they had tended the baby but the sudden sound of a gunshot had brought them back to reality.

"Stay here," he whispered as he moved toward the galley doorway.

Almost immediately, a second shot came.

Managing to pull the metal door closed, he shouted, "Get down," motioning to the ladder. "In the shower!"

Sara did not wait; she leaped from the table and made it to the lower level faster than a spooked cat; baby Shui was tucked tightly between her chest and arm.

She heard a third shot and felt the turbulence caused by the helicopter as it seemed to hover over the boat. And then warmth and weight was over her in the form of her husband who was speaking into a satellite phone held in one hand and holding a pistol in his other hand. More gun shots pelted the boat which was pitching and lurching in rotor-blade stirred water.

To Sara's stunned brain, the pistol was the most surprising aspect of the past three minutes.

Grissom continued talking, describing the attacking helicopter as gun fire pinged off the boat. A lot of gun fire, Sara thought.

Sara was happy the boat was old enough to be mostly steel hulled; she wasn't sure what was happening to the deck and windows, but the shower stall, small and tucked underneath the galley, was providing a safe haven—for now.

As soon as he said, "Coast Guard is three minutes away," the sound of the helicopter began to move away. When Grissom opened the door to the shower stall, Sara grabbed his arm.

"Not yet—give it another minute. What the hell is this about?"

Grissom, still clutching the phone and the gun, raked the backs of his hands across his face. "Are you all right?"

"We're fine," Sara answered and moved her arm to show the face of the baby.

Somehow, in all the scrambling, a tiny fist had emerged from the towel and had made its way to the infant's mouth. After pocketing the gun and sat phone, he caressed Sara's shoulder, kissed her forehead, and spent several seconds admiring the infant's tenacity before he said:

"I'm going up. Stay here—I don't think they left anything but a few bullet holes but I'll check first." His hands remained on Sara's shoulder and the baby's head until he got an affirming nod from Sara.

She stayed in the shower for about thirty seconds before stepping into the cabin. No broken windows, she thought as she looked up to see multiple holes in the ceiling—what would be the front deck—and found three warm shells on the bed. Placing the baby on a corner of the mattress, she searched a compartment and found an old shirt. She tore a long strip, tied the ends together, and had a functional sling for baby Shui; smiling at her resourcefulness, she climbed to the galley with the infant secure to her chest.

What she found stunned her. Grissom was standing on the lower deck, using binoculars to look at the approaching helicopter. Looking upward at the fly bridge, Sara drew a deep breath. What had been the fly bridge was now a tangled, destroyed pile of debris.

Grissom's arm went around her shoulders when she moved next to him. Removing the binoculars, he said, "I have no idea who we angered but it appears they were royally pissed."

Sara, looking at the approaching helicopter, said, "Are we sure it's the Coast Guard this time?"

"Yeah—I think we have the Coast Guard, Fish and Wildlife, Immigration—hell, I think the U.S. Navy is headed out here."

Handing the binoculars to her, Sara adjusted the view finder and scanned the ocean to the east. In the air, she counted six helicopters, flying in a V formation; a bright orange one in the lead. In the water, she could see four boats, white and low, coming toward them at speeds that caused the forms in the boats to quickly become recognizable as humans; individuals dressed in uniforms with the insignia of the Coast Guard conspicuously displayed on each bright orange hull.

 _A/N: YAY! Coast Guard to the rescue! More coming...we appreciate hearing from you!_


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: A new chapter! Thanks to all who are reading. A special thank you to those who review!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 17**

A break from the story's theme song…to this one… _Blue skies smilin' at me_ _  
_ _Nothin' but blue skies do I see…(thanks to JF for the idea!)_

After the hellacious few minutes of gun fire from a helicopter, arrival of a couple of Coast Guard boats came as the efforts of extinguishing the last vestiges of a raging fire. Helicopters churned water until waved off; five of the machines headed into a search arc. One went higher and continued to circle the boats.

In a frenzy, two of the Coast Guard boats snapped lines onto Grissom's boat, securing it between rubber hulls. A sandwich, Sara thought, with the _Ishmael_ as peanut butter.

The rescue and recovery team got to work; divers in the water located the bodies, now riddled with bullet holes. A third boat, larger than the others, positioned itself in front of Grissom's boat for towing. The fourth boat headed northwest.

Once the officers established Sara had been in the shower stall, she was dismissed as a woman with a baby. Sara said nothing; the men were too professional to let their condescension show. But in the tone of their voices, in the strength of their smiles, Sara recognized they would rather deal with the man on this boat.

She left the deck, returning to the galley to find a bottle of water. The baby still tucked in her sling so both hands were free, Sara searched in the cabinet until she found an unopened package of plastic gloves. While all the commotion was going on with the arrival of the Coast Guard, Sara had felt movements and heard the soft mewling of the baby. Even with no prior experience, she knew the rooting reflex had seriously kicked in.

In a few minutes, she had devised a nipple from a finger of the plastic glove and attached it to the bottle of water.

"Well, little one, we'll find out if this works," she said quietly, settling into one of the padded seats at the table. Shifting the baby to what she thought would be a feeding position, she placed the make-shift nipple against the infant's mouth.

And—with a dozen men crawling around the bullet-ridden _Ishmael_ along with their ongoing noise—the little rosebud mouth latched on the nipple and actually sucked.

Sara could not remember feeling more satisfied with any project as the baby swallowed water. Then she realized she was actually cooing and cuddling this little girl, thinking Shui's face was the most perfectly shaped face in the world.

Just as quickly, the baby spit the glove-turned-nipple out of her mouth, smacking her lips a few times before her face screwed up in a whimpering cry.

Instinct took over; Sara lifted the baby to her shoulder, patted the small back, and, surprising herself, started singing a made-up song about what was going on around her. With her chin nestled against the baby's face, Sara's thoughts took a curious turn. This baby had no physical connection to her, yet she had a strange sense of protection for this little human. In a few hours, she would hand her over to—to child services.

Sudden tears sprang to her eyes remembering her own time with unknown social services workers and foster homes. Blinking quickly, she whispered, "I hope things are different now—for a newborn—you're too small to remember any of this—and people want newborns."

Tears made tracks down her cheeks until she figured out how to move her hand to her face and keep little Shui held against her chest.

Grissom had considered his boat to be spacious until it was tied between two Coast Guard boats and another larger one was running lines to the _Ishmael_ for towing. Obvious at once, the head officer had actually requested permission to board and was asking Grissom one studied question after another.

The rest of the crew worked on recovery as Grissom related the sequence of events; an astonishingly brief period of time in the telling of it, but took longer with questions. As he began telling about finding the woman alive, a diver brought up another body; that of a small child, thus breaking his storyline as another body joined the others on the deck of the _Ishmael_.

Grissom realized, at some point, he was no longer needed—was actually in the way—he stepped toward the cabin to check on Sara and the baby.

When Grissom's shadow fell across the doorway, he found his wife wiping tears away. He knew it was not the trauma of bullets or dead bodies that caused her tears. Moving swiftly to her side, he knelt beside her, placing a hand on her thigh.

Sara said, "She'll go to a foster home first—then be placed for adoption pretty quick, I think."

"Sara…" He could think of nothing to say because his mind was clouded with regrets at what had not happened. "I—I wish…"

At that moment, the Coast Guard officer stepped into the small cabin. He said, "If we could move you over to one of the other boats—take anything you might need—one of the boats will stay behind while we get you to shore. And your boat will be towed to—to our base where we can go over it." Pausing a minute, he added, "We can drop you right at your marina—maybe a little better for you and the baby."

In a confusing minute, Sara looked at the officer before glancing at her husband who was, from his appearance, having a similar puzzling thought. Together, they spoke:

"The baby…"

"She isn't ours."

The man in the doorway looked from Sara to Grissom, back to Sara, his mouth open in baffling bewilderment.

Sara gained her voice first, saying, "The woman we pulled out—she died a few minutes later—when she died, Gil did a C-section and got the baby out."

"Dear God Almighty!" It was an exclamation expressed in a whisper.

Grissom said, "I never finished the story of the woman—the boy—it was when the boy was found…"

The officer had stepped into the cabin, peering at the infant when Sara lifted the baby from her shoulder. His finger touched the sleeping baby's chin.

"We don't rescue many this size, that's for sure." He made a soft laugh, saying, "Welcome to the world, little citizen." With amazement, looking at Grissom and Sara, he said, "You did a C-section and the baby lived? That's—that's quite a rescue."

"Is she really a citizen?" Asked Sara.

The answer from the officer was, "Sure she is—born eleven point five nautical miles from the nearest United States boundary. Make sure you put that on her birth certificate." He rubbed his chin, adding, "What people will do to get here—I'm always amazed."

In thought, he stepped back and looked at the dark-haired woman curled into the built-in seat. Underestimating women was the last gasp in a world long dominated by men; he knew he had done it today. Women noticed different things; he'd seen it in his career. Women noticed details, clothing, beard growth, personal hygiene that paid off when gun barrels were not around to be examined.

He looked around at spots of destruction where bullets had entered the cabin. Not many but enough to disturb the order these two people considered necessary for a boat this size. He asked:

"Tell me anything you noticed about the bodies—especially the woman—anything you think is important."

With his invitation, Sara related all she could remember—the painted nails, the soft hands and feet, a dress that appeared to be expensive, the bikini wax—and the few words.

Sara said, "She said 'take my baby' in English—only three words, but with no accent—I'm sure of it."

He had miscalculated, he thought as he asked, "What about the men? Your husband said you were the one to—to tie a light stick—you were close."

Quickly, she said, "One had been dead longer than the other—both Asian. Their clothes were—short pants, a blue shirt on one, plaid on the other. Workers—their hands were working hands, calloused appearing."

Nodding, he said, "Let's get you two—three—moved. I'll make a call about the baby; give them your address if you don't mind. The ship has been stopped, boarding—search going on now. The other boat—the one who alerted you—located twelve bodies and did not get a visit from the gun-shooting helicopter." He shook his head, saying, "It's all about smuggling—drugs, people—the captain of the ship is going to say he knew nothing—when we know it's a lie."

Giving the infant a soft pat on her sock-covered head, he stepped outside, leaving Sara and Grissom looking at each other. Grissom shrugged, stood and leaned over to kiss Sara. He said, "I'll pack a bag of…"

"Your gun," Sara whispered. "There's nothing else I need."

For the first time in what seemed like hours, he grinned. "Legally registered," he said as he left her for a few minutes returning with a well-padded bag.

Grissom and Sara climbed into the rescue boat, baby Shui resting in her sling as two of the young men took Sara's elbows in a show of helpfulness or an act of chivalry. She chose to believe it was helpfulness.

In a few minutes, they were headed east seated snuggly on a bench seat meant for fewer people. Leaning against Grissom's shoulder, the rhythmic whoosh of waves on the hull, her sudden exhaustion, Sara drifted in and out of sleep.

When the boat touched the dock, Sara woke, dazed and aching, and thankful home was only a short walk. And then surprised when a dozen people were waiting, extending hands to tie the Coast Guard boat to the slip or reach for Grissom's hand and then hers. Of course, the Coast Guard had radioed ahead. The four people not in uniform were—probably social workers, she thought. The time had come.

The baby would be taken and put into the system. The only way around that would be called kidnapping; even adoption would take months. For the third or fourth time in several hectic hours, she wished she'd shared a niggling hope with her husband. She looked at Grissom who appeared as disheveled as she knew she looked and wondered if anyone on the dock would recognize them as a relatively normal couple.

She certainly wasn't ready for the "authorities" to take this warm tiny being and drop her into the foster care system. Sara's thoughts traveled at warp speed as she stepped on the dock. Shui's mother had said "Take my baby" and didn't that mean the baby belonged to the two people kneeling beside the dying woman.

Someone held out a small blanket; Sara looked at the woman standing in front of her. Nice eyes, dark hair, stylish cut, wearing jeans and a white shirt.

"I'm Sharon." She smiled. "So this is the soon-to-be famous ocean baby? Do you have a name for her?"

Because the woman smiled warmly, because she asked for Shui's name, Sara immediately liked this woman. "Shui—it means water" she answered as she held out her arm so the baby could be taken.

She felt Grissom's arm on her shoulder, strong and comforting. Little Shui would disappear, perhaps a mention on one of the local news outlets, hopefully into a home with loving parents.

The woman, Sharon, continued talking and several seconds passed before Sara caught up to the conversation. She had missed something; Grissom's hand had tightened on her shoulder.

Sharon continued, "It's not every day one gets called by the commanding officer of the Coast Guard—but when I do, I move fast."

The four people not in uniform had formed a separate group around Sara and Grissom and they were moving away from the boat within a protective ring.

As quick introductions were made—a nurse, another social worker, and a driver—Sara realized special accommodations were being made. Her hand reached for her husband's as lightheadedness gripped her ability to make sense of what was being said.

Shui would stay with them; temporarily, Sharon, the smiling social worker, said, provided the nurse found the baby healthy.

 _A/N: Hope you have enjoyed the story up to now...more coming! Your reviews encourage writing!_


	18. Chapter 18

**_A/N: Enjoy! And leave a comment, please! Some of you have been waiting for this one!_**

 **After All**

 **Chapter 18**

 _When love is truly right—this time it's truly right…It lives from year to year…It changes as it goes. Oh, and on the way it grows…but it never disappears._

Hours passed before Sara finally sat on the side of the bed, too many things running through her mind to think about as she towel dried her hair. She—they had gone through a crash course in carrying for a baby and thinking was exhausting her. Three days to three weeks—baby Shui would remain in their home.

An undocumented birth on a boat, mother dead, father unknown, an ongoing investigation into multiple crimes at sea, a request from the Coast Guard commander; all these facts revolved around an infant who was unaware of the circumstances of her arrival and had placed her in the care of the couple who had saved her. Sara thought the prime reason had been the request from the Coast Guard commander. Otherwise, baby Shui would have disappeared the moment they had stepped on the dock.

The bundle of humanity was swaddled in a soft flannel blanket tucked into a little bed that unfolded like an umbrella. She—Sara Sidle—had dressed the baby in a owl-printed sleeper after the nurse had examined the baby, and, Sara thought, the nurse, who would return in the morning, had handled this fragile tiny human like modeling clay before pronouncing little Shui in good condition. She had wrapped Shui in a diaper and showed Sara the ready-to-use formula.

The two social workers had filled out pages of forms; Grissom repeated what the Coast Guard officer had said about the baby's place of birth. The person who had driven them home in a van was not only 'the driver'; he was a notary who filled out registration forms. He had also brought in supplies and equipment, apparently accustomed to taking directions from the three women.

After several hours, everyone had left, checking and rechecking the baby's bed, diapers, and formula. One of the social workers had fed Shui enough formula to put her asleep.

"For a few hours and then feed her again." The woman had gone over procedures for feeding three times; Sara thought she understood the directions.

Grissom said "Don't worry—she'll be hungry." Both had nodded their heads as if they knew what to do.

Alone for the first time since the Coast Guard had arrived on their boat, Grissom said, "We need food and a shower." He held out his arms, saying, "I'll hold her while you shower."

With unbelievable effort, Sara handed the baby to her husband who, at some point, had put on a clean shirt. Grissom took the infant effortlessly, as if he'd done it a thousand times, holding her as one does a football with legs tucked against his chest as his arm supported the baby's back.

Sara was amazed; a simple hold that left one hand free. He made it look so easy. Shaking her head, she headed upstairs.

Out of the shower, she found Shui sleeping in her little boxy bed; their own bed folded back, and a tray of food on the bed.

"You did this?" Sara asked, not quite sure how her husband had managed to make two sandwiches while holding a baby, yet thankful to have something to eat.

"I did—now, hope you left me a drop of hot water." Standing at the end of the bed for a few minutes, he asked, "Are you going to be okay?"

"We'll be fine. Get a shower." She laughed as he disappeared into the bathroom.

Without being aware of it, Sara reached out and touched the sleeping baby. Instantly, she drew a deep breath and smiled. A release of tension she had not known she had occurred as her hand stroked the small chest. Watching the baby's mouth move as if she was dreaming of desserts, she could not stop a smile.

When the bathroom door opened, she was still touching the baby, and holding a half-eaten sandwich in her free hand.

"You haven't finished your sandwich," Grissom said as he came and sat next to her, smelling of soap, his damp hair curling on his head.

Sara's hand retreated as she admitted, "I think I'm a little mesmerized by—by all of it"

Grissom's finger traced along the baby's face; the color of his finger in contrast to the pale infant face as he said, "She is perfection, isn't she."

Sara pulled the tray of food between them. Grissom took a sandwich without a glance, saying, "Eat up—we'll be up in a few hours if our directions were correct."

"Gil, in all this—excitement—I—I've not—we need to talk about…"

Yawning, Grissom picked up the tray of food and moved it to a table beside the bed. "I'm beat, dear. Can it wait—we've got furniture coming tomorrow. A baby to care for—I'm not sure I could talk about anything else tonight."

He yawned again, finished the last of his sandwich, and stretched across the bed. "Wake me when Shui needs feeding—and a diaper change. I think they go together."

Sara knew he was exhausted and laughed when she heard the whisper of a soft snore less than a minute after his head hit the pillow. She did not think she would quickly sleep, but she must have because a whimpering sound dragged her awake.

Confused for a few seconds before she remembered she was responsible for a newborn, she threw back covers and lifted Shui from her bed. For the first time since her birth, the baby was squirming and waving tiny fists.

""Hungry," Sara whispered as she carried the baby downstairs. An angry whimper started as soon as Sara had placed the bottle in warm water; it was difficult to manage a baby, a pan of water, and a small bottle but she did it. And she remembered to check the formula's temperature before giving it to the baby.

She had to persuade Shui to accept the formula; the baby turning her head to Sara's chest.

Sara laughed, saying, "Nothing there for you, little one! You got to drink this stuff—keep your strength up."

Once she settled into a chair, snuggly positioning the infant in the crook of her arm, Shui opened her eyes and began to suck from the nipple. Sara laughed as she felt surprising success from the baby's natural act. In the dim light, she could see the bright eyes slowly blink several times until the eyes remained closed and Shui's mouth stopped sucking. To Sara, it did not appear much formula was gone, but the nurse had said a newborn didn't require much.

Sara lifted the infant to her shoulder and patted as she'd seen the nurse do. After a few minutes of doing this, she felt warm contact on her hand that held the baby's bottom; instantly, a new odor emanated from the same area.

Sara had never changed a baby's diaper. She had watched. A towel had been placed over the clothes dryer to make a soft mat. Diapers were stacked on a shelf; wet wipes next to the box. Prepared, she unsnapped Shui's sleeper and carefully pried apart the Velcro closures. Wet wipes took care of the soiled bottom and she quickly fastened a new diaper over the tiny body.

The baby's eyes opened, seemed to study Sara's face for a full minute, before waving a hand. In Sara's mind, a thought ticked briefly but left just as quickly as Shui's leg made a pumping motion.

Whispering, she said, "Now, you are all clean and warm. I think you might be smiling about all of this." She lifted the baby to her shoulder and returned to the kitchen.

Again, she nestled the baby into the curve of her arm, offering the bottle. Shui was happier to take the nipple this time and gave several healthy pulls on the bottle before settling into a gently rhythm.

It was quiet in the house and in the neighborhood. She had been surprised at this peaceful area adjacent to a metropolitan city; as if time and development had passed over the small streets and canals.

A few minutes later, the baby dropped the nipple and a line of white fluid ran from her mouth to her chin. Sara took a corner of the blanket and wiped away the formula. The perfect oval face, rosebud lips, a sigh that could have been butterfly wings caused Sara to think about what she had attempted to tell her husband.

In that moment, in the silence that surrounded Sara and the baby, she heard the unmistakable metallic sound of a round being chambered in a gun. Not far away—outside; she heard the shuffle of footsteps. Sitting with a baby in her arms, she felt trapped—and helpless—for about eight seconds.

Quietly, she rose and scuttled across the long room, grateful the floor was clear of furniture and boxes. Taking the stairs two at a time, holding the baby tightly, she pushed open the bedroom door to find her husband rubbing his face and checking his phone.

"Gil," she whispered. "Gil—I heard someone outside—with a gun!"

His reaction was a complete surprise.

His hand waved for her to get back in bed. Very casually and calmly, he took the baby and waited for her to climb in bed. He said, "No one thought it would happen so quickly. FBI agents have been watching the house since we got back. This—this smuggling is much larger than you or I ever thought."

Sara's mouth was gaping; gently, Grissom placed his thumb on her chin and pushed upward. He said, "You've had a lot happen today and—no one thought anything would happen tonight—so I thought I had time to tell you."

"I'm awake so tell me now!"

Placing his phone so he could see the screen and switching a lamp on, he shifted the baby to one arm and pulled Sara into his free arm. Once settled together, he told her what he knew.

He said, "I know only what I need to know. The ship had over one hundred people on it—being smuggled into the Port of Los Angeles. Several—probably less than a dozen—died due to heat stroke. When they realized they were nearly to LA, someone on the ship decided it would be a good idea to throw the bodies off the ship."

Baby Shui began to make a restless noise and Sara was surprised to find she was still holding the bottle. She moved enough so she could hold the bottle while Grissom held the baby.

He continued, "It seems whoever put the bodies in the water, grabbed up several—Shui's mother was one—who were not quite dead and tossed them over. Once the Coast Guard and Port Authority got to our boat—the bad guys had the name of the boat—they knew we might be targeted. It's fairly easy to find out where a boat is kept and who owns it. That's where the FBI got involved."

His phone pinged and Sara reached for it, reading the message, "Picked up two suspicious males on the canal. Taking them into custody. Agents will remain in place." Holding the phone so Grissom could read it, she said, "So—should I invite them in for coffee?"

Chuckling, Grissom shook his head. "I think we are safe. We have a front door on a narrow street being watched by several agents. The other door opens to a deck and a canal—and a couple of agents sitting in chairs in the dark. The FBI, ICE, the Port Authority—all convinced me we had a safe place and an easy one to watch. I could get us something to eat."

Sara snuggled against him as the baby made more noise and opened her eyes, looking up at the two faces who were returning her stare. Sara bent closer to the perfect face and blurted, "Hazel! Her eyes are hazel!"

Grissom leaned over, blocking the baby's face for a minute before reaching to adjust the lamp. "You're right—she does have hazel eyes." He looked at Sara, both thinking about genetics and eye color. "Well," he said, "her mother was Asian—and there's been a lot of gene-swapping in that part of the world—so it's possible."

Sara, trying to relax, placed her head on her husband's shoulder. "I've been trying to tell you something all day," she said.

"It isn't scary, is it? You nearly scared me to death jumping into the ocean."

Softly, she laughed as she touched the tiny waving hand, saying, "Then this may give you another scare." The baby's fingers closed around Sara's finger. "I wish we could keep her."

"You know we can't," he sighed. "At my age, no agency is going to approve an infant adoption."

Another soft laugh as she turned and kissed his cheek. She said, "Age plays with us in strange ways." She sighed and then said, "I think I'm pregnant."

 _ **A/N: Okay-now it's in the story! No comments about their ages! Janet Jackson just had a baby at age 50! Petersen's mother was 44 when he was born! So leave your comments/reviews/your words of appreciation before clicking to the next story!**_

 _ **Love live GSR! (It will as long as readers support writers!)**_


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: Thank you to all who are keeping up with our story! A new chapter for the weekend-read, enjoy! And, review!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 19**

 _After all the stops and starts…we keep coming back to these two hearts…_

During what seemed to be several long minutes, the dark haired baby blinked twice, sucked her bottom lip, and nodded off to sleep. Grissom smiled before turning to Sara.

"You are." He stated it as a fact, no question, no uncertainty; an easily recognized bit of glee edged his words as Sara felt an almost silent chuckle. He added, "It occurred to me several days ago, that we had done nothing—not even talked about the possibility—and you haven't had a period."

Shifting baby Shui to his left arm, he hugged Sara, kissing her tenderly on her forehead. He said, "We'll use this one for practice—make sure we know how to put the diaper on the right end."

"I didn't think it could happen—not after..."

Another soft chuckle. "I was primed and ready when you showed up." He was silent for several seconds before saying, "So—how far along—when did you think—when was your period supposed to come?"

"The day we got married."

This time he laughed, smothering his laughter in her hair. "You were fertile—I was loaded—no sex in a couple of years and those little swimmers must have exploded!"

Sara gave him a gentle elbow punch. "We don't know for sure, Stud Muffin."

Carefully, he got out of bed and placed Shui in her little bed, tucking her blanket around her, and then motioned for Sara to scoot over. "Next time, I'll get up with her—you can sleep."

Sara moved over to the middle of the bed, laughing as she said, "How do you know how to care for a baby?"

He made a satisfied grin. "Simple—the white stuff goes in the mouth—the bottom is wet—or" wrinkling his nose, he said, "messy—put a new diaper on."

Fluffing his pillow, Sara asked, "Have we gotten ourselves in a mess?"

"Probably." Grissom stretched beside her and pulled her into an embrace. "We'll work it out—someone else will find the bad guys."

Sara's hand rested on his chest; her husband was asleep in seconds.

She would have liked to sleep in—maybe sleep for a day—half a day—but it was not happening this morning. First, the door bell; she had to think about the sound because she'd not heard it before it woke her. Then, remembering the baby, she quickly sat up to find she was alone in bed—and the little box bed was empty.

Washing her face and pulling on clean jeans and a shirt, she headed downstairs and found three men standing at the door. Grissom was holding Shui against his shoulder; a diaper was stuck between his shirt and the baby.

Quick introductions made—two men from the moving company and the third man was introduced as 'Michael'. Either the ear bud or the bulge under his jacket was all she needed to know about Michael. Sara took the baby into the laundry room to straighten out the diaper, still amazed at all the stuff needed to care for a small human.

Sticking his head into the room, Grissom handed her a bottle, saying, "She didn't finish this one." He pointed to the diaper stack. "I got one on her but then it fell off and the sticky stuff wore off."

Sara laughed and cooed at the baby. "We'll do fine—take care of the movers." She turned her head toward Grissom. "Give me a kiss. Men who kiss their wives in the morning live longer than those who don't."

By noon, their furniture and boxes were inside the house stacked to give tight passageways from room to room and making the place resemble a hoarder's paradise. The furniture, mostly pieces that held sentimental value and practical use, had been placed in appropriate rooms but almost hidden by boxes.

Sara had removed herself from the hustle and bustle by sitting on the upper deck with her feet stretched in front of her and the sun on her face. Except for the time spent feeding baby Shui and changing her diaper and watching the infant sleep meant she spent very little time on the deck. Holding the baby under the shade of the colorful umbrella, she lazily watched birds playing along the canal.

She recognized something in her brain had changed; changed for an infant in her possession for a few hours in a life time. For a brief minute, she wondered if it happened to all women when taking care of a baby but, no, she'd seen too many cases where it did not happen. Studying the infant's face, perfectly shaped with lips that formed a delicate heart when her mouth puckered for the nipple, she thought she was looking at an amazing work of art—and laughed out loud just as Grissom stepped onto the deck.

His laughter added to hers, before saying, "It's good to see you smiling." He placed a wrapped sandwich and a bottle of water on the table. "Lunch—I ate with the feds—who are still here. Movers have left and I'm sure we got someone else's stuff! Have you glanced in the bedroom? Can all that be ours?"

When he reached over, took the baby and sat beside Sara. He asked, "What's next?"

"Sleep—just finished nearly two ounces. Does that mean she sleeps two hours?"

One side of his mouth quirked upward. He said, "I have no idea." He settled into his chair, baby on his shoulder. "The FBI guys have a lot of people in custody—most from the Fujian province—and in the process of interviewing are trying to find someone who knew the pregnant woman."

As Sara ate her sandwich, he related all he'd learned; smugglers, Chinese triads, Mexican cartels, the difference between human smuggling—people who paid to be transported—and trafficking which exploited humans with a form of slavery.

"It appears this ship was smuggling—everyone had paid for the trip—and had some kind of 'accommodations' on board—mostly shipping containers but they had some freedom to move around the ship." Shaking his head while he kept his hand on the baby, he continued, "It's nothing new—we got caught up in it. Now the Coast Guard and ICE are saying our boat won't be released for months." He sighed. "They are still looking for the helicopter and whoever was shooting at us!"

Sara, finishing her sandwich, said, "All I wanted to find was turtles—or see a whale."

Reaching for her hand, he said, "We'll have a needed break—do some other things—and—and-you need to see a doctor—I mean, unless—you know…"

"I could try a home pregnancy test."

It was the next morning before Sara held the white rectangle, her husband's head over her shoulder, as they waited for the result. She could feel his warm exhalation of air on her neck as the breath he'd been holding escaped.

She found words first, asking, "Do you think its right?"

Without a word, he sank onto the bed as if his legs could no longer hold his weight; she followed, still holding the pregnancy kit. He found her hand, lifted it to his mouth and kissed it.

Reality slammed into Sara with surprising force, resulting in an "Oh!" and she started to cry.

The day before, their afternoon had been taken over by visits from the nurse and the social worker, checking on the baby, leaving more supplies, and voicing approval of her care. As soon as they left, two agents from ICE, immigration and customs, another FBI agent, and a woman from an immigration assistance group arrived. With boxes stacked everywhere, there was not enough chairs for everyone to sit so they moved to the deck where two FBI agents had managed to keep a low profile all morning.

Sara, carrying the baby in her arms, felt she was living in a warped world; caring for an infant consumed most of her time but she wasn't going to sit on a shelf while these strangers discussed what had happened—and what was going to happen.

And there was much to be told about the ship and its crew and the conglomerate web of ownership.

Finally, the woman from the immigration group spoke, saying, "Not many people would have done what you did—saving a baby with such quick thinking."

Sara nodded. All the introductions had stayed in her mind for twelve seconds; she thought the woman's name was Lisa—or maybe it was Clarissa. She avoided using a name and, trying to make a reasonable response, she said, "The mother spoke to us—I don't think she had an accent."

The woman glanced at the men; one gave a barely perceptible nod.

"We believe we've found her family."

The air left Sara's lungs. Knowing she held only the slightest string of custody to the infant she held did not stop the fast appearance of tears. Grissom's hand touched her thigh as she blinked rapidly and dropped her face to Shui who was tucked in the crook of her arm.

The woman, Lisa/Clarissa, continued, "Two women on the ship gave us photographs." She pulled several photos from her bag. "Can you say with any certainty this is the young woman?"

Grissom took the photographs, only three, and held each one so Sara could see it. Both recognized the young face.

Sara said, "It's the same woman—the mother of the baby."

"How are the women related to her?" Grissom asked.

Another glance toward the men; Sara followed the gaze to one of the immigration agents.

After a long pause, the agent said, "One claims to be her mother, the other her grandmother." He paused, sighed, before continuing, "According to the women, your young mother's husband is a citizen—she went to Thailand several months ago and, our understanding is, she wanted to bring her mother, a couple of aunts, the grandmother over but they couldn't officially get out of China—who knows why—but they managed to slip out, get on this ship, and seemed to be well-treated, well-fed."

He made an eye roll and sighed, "We'll never know how much money changed hands. But from what the women have told us, the younger woman wasn't well. On the morning you found her, men from the crew came around checking on everyone—probably they were afraid of a contagious illness on board—in a few minutes, the sick were separated."

The woman said, "They locked all the others in shipping containers and—you saw the results."

"And the father?" Sara asked.

The same agent answered, "He came here as a student, became a citizen five years ago, and works as a software developer. We—we haven't contacted him yet—waiting to—we wanted to know about the baby's mother—if you could identify her."

Grissom's arm had gone around Sara's shoulders; his fingers gently traced along her arm. He said, "What about the helicopter? The shooter?"

The FBI agent answered, "Still looking." His hands came together in a nervous gesture. He asked, "Once we get the baby sorted out, do you folks have a place you could go? A couple of weeks—we'll make sure your home is safe—but if you could slip out of town, we'll stay in contact and hopefully find whoever sent the helicopter out."

The rest of the day passed with productive unpacking by Grissom while Sara cared for the baby. She surprised herself when she did not cry as she fed and diapered the infant. Her husband recognized a need for quiet compassion and moved boxes so she could sit comfortably with the baby.

"He'll give her a new name," she said quietly as she brushed her fingers through downy hair.

Grissom kissed his wife's forehead. "We've learned a lot in the few hours she's been with us," he said. "She's been a—a treasure for us to safe guard."

A while later, he left and returned with a shopping bag containing not one but three home pregnancy testing kits which caused Sara to laugh, saying, "We may be in for a very big change in life, Gil."

His face broke out in a grin, his chest puffed out like a proud peacock. "I'm in shock—I haven't quite gotten to—to—never thought I'd be a dad. We need to know—and—and we'll go back to Vegas for a couple of weeks. You can see your doctor and…" his grin grew. "When do you take the test?"

After reading instructions, Sara said, "Morning—first pee. We'll know in the morning."

The test was positive; changing rapidly to the correct symbol. Both stared for what seemed to be several minutes and then little Shui began making grunting fussy noises that broke into their thoughts. Sara wiped her tears and drew a deep breath.

Before Sara could move, Grissom leaned over and kissed her. "We never thought this would happen," he said.

Sara's fingers threaded through his hair. She said, "Once we thought it would happen quickly—and then it didn't. This," she waved the small tray between them, "scares me—more than being shot at from a helicopter!"

The baby's cry grew louder.

Grissom kissed her again before standing. "I'll warm the bottle."

 _A/N: Again, thanks to everyone for your interest and encouragement! We appreciate hearing from you! Long live GSR!_


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: Thank you for waiting...enjoy! More to come._

 **After All**

 **Chapter 20**

Two days later, a lot of boxes were unpacked. The place had the appearance of a wind storm's aftermath but moving around was definitely easier.

An FBI agent was on watch during the day; more than that at night. Sara was fairly certain there was much they were not free to divulge about whoever was behind the smuggling, the helicopter attack. They were friendly yet professional, fading into the background except for meal times and had been generous when ordering sandwiches and pizza.

The two men caught the first night were found to be garden-variety burglars knowing nothing about smuggling or gunmen in helicopters.

And Shui remained with the Grissoms.

Lisa, from the immigrant support group, called to say immigration officials were 'investigating the women and the father of the baby'; she was vague.

Late on the second day, Sara carried Shui to the lower deck where a cloudless sky and a gentle breeze made the afternoon beautiful. She and Grissom had quickly admitted caring for a newborn was time-consuming, exhausting, and twenty-four hours a day. But they adjusted; Grissom had turned an empty box into a padded bed and placed it on two chairs downstairs so the baby had a place to sleep on both levels.

Stepping off the deck, keeping the baby wrapped and shaded by a blanket, Sara sat on an old wooden bench, its back formed by the edge of the deck.

For the first time in days, she filled her lungs with fresh air and took in the expanse of calm water that made the long canal, never busy, a ribbon of blue. The greenery around her, low growing bushes that formed a dense hedge between the deck and the community path, was blooming with small yellow flowers. Beyond the path, hip-high bushes had taken over the area to the water's edge. Overgrown and scraggly, she thought about clearing it out for more manageable plants.

The baby's grunts caused Sara to look down, moving the blanket away from her face to find eyes wide between dark lashes. Smiling, she moved her face against the dark hair, inhaling the sweet clean smell of infancy. My baby, realizing she was suddenly surprised at her thought.

For less than two minutes, she wondered about this little girl's future. Shui had a father and a grandmother who would love her on sight. She was a good baby, Sara thought and then chuckled at how little she knew about babies.

There had been a time when she and Grissom thought pregnancy and children would be easy yet after one brief start and ending, followed by many visits to physicians, they had put hopes for a family aside. Her gaze turned to the sun in the western sky; perhaps it had been absence and abstinence—and luck—to conceive. Or perhaps this was a cruel trick of nature and she really wasn't pregnant—or would not be for long.

A quiet mewling from Shui brought Sara's head down again and she lifted the baby to her shoulder.

In her peripheral vision, she caught an odd movement in the bushes nearest the water. Her first thought was 'not the wind' and she turned her face toward the spot of disturbed foliage, squinting her eyes in the bright sunlight as she watched the bushes moving slightly.

Her mouth dropped open as a man, clad in green-woodsy camouflage, took shape. His face and head were covered by the type of mask she associated with killers and motorcyclists; his eyes were covered by sunglasses. In his right hand, he held an automatic pistol equipped with a silencer; his demeanor that of someone who did not expect to be discovered but was prepared.

Sara's immediate reaction was knowing she'd never make it inside the house. Even as she saw him, he saw her, and the gun came up. Quickly, she shifted the baby to her chest. The movement spoiled his aim and he leveled the weapon again, now centering on her head.

That told the criminalist the man was an expert and he wouldn't miss.

In an instant, Sara's free hand covered the baby and she dived for the thick hedge that had provided privacy until the man stood. She'd always been light on her feet and, even scared, she barely made a sound as she hit the ground. Scooting as fast as possible underneath the tangle of bushes, she screamed as loud as she could.

Afterwards, Grissom told her she had yelled "fire" so loud that neighbors across the canal had heard her, rushing from houses while dialing 9-1-1. He and the FBI agent had pulled her from her hiding place and by the time she was standing, a couple of people were shouting about a motorcyclist driving dangerously across the pedestrian bridge less than half a block away.

Before Sara washed her hands, she unwrapped the baby and examined every inch of the little pale body, finding nothing but a baby happy to be free of diaper and blanket, pumping her feet in the air as Sara slumped in gratitude that dirt on her hands and jeans was the only result of being in the gun sight of a killer.

Once he had assured himself that his wife and the baby were safe and relatively unscathed, Grissom banished the helplessness that Sara had saved herself. He wanted to say he should have been there to defend her but experience and common sense told him it wasn't the first time, and probably not the last, that Sara would save herself.

And, he realized what she meant to him—literally everything. His knees were weak; his stomach churned at the thought of losing her now.

In minutes, the house was filled with a team of FBI agents and a few people he knew as neighbors. The women took over the baby and Sara; the elderly lady from next door glared down the men in suits who wanted to question Sara and then herded her upstairs for a shower.

He stood by as others joined in the search for evidence; all knowing they would find nothing but trampled leaves, a few footprints and generic tire tracks. Realizing the agents were working to hide a boiling anger in the same way he was suppressing his rage, he suggested returning to the house, letting the crime scene team do its work.

His neighbor, Millie, had tea, coffee, and several beers ready to serve. He wanted harder stuff, but took coffee. Sara was on the sofa, holding Shui in the crook of her arm, an empty baby bottle in her hand. The baby was asleep; Sara was wrapped in a thick bathroom of a kind he had never seen.

"Your wife is one in a million—excellent physical description of height, weight and type of gun," said Special Agent-in-charge, Mitch Gregory. He had been talking with Sara while Grissom had been outside.

"I know that. Now, tell us what's going on. We've heard it a dozen ways but I don't believe we've heard the truth." Grissom's voice had a hard edge to it as he had walked over to the sofa and propped beside Sara.

The FBI agent glanced around the room. He seemed to be counting the people who were not Bureau employees.

Grissom said, "Everyone here has a stake in this—neighbors were witnesses to a gunman coming after my wife while she's holding a baby. All of us want to hear the truth—as much as you know. The only reason Sara's not dead was because she was hidden from view by over-grown bushes. Anyone who saw her—or had seen the shooter would have gotten the same treatment. Her screams of 'fire' got everyone's attention and the gunman knew he had to get away. This is a quiet neighborhood—what has happened to bring this kind of violence to it?"

It was a lecture; no one in the room seemed to breathe and, if possible, several men appeared to stand at attention. When Grissom finished, he leaned over and kissed Sara's forehead. He missed every head turning toward Special Agent-in-charge, Mitch Gregory.

He hesitated for a long minute but finding a dozen pairs of eyes boring at him, he said, "The next thing we have to do is get you out-of-town. I'll arrange it so all three of you leave for a week—maybe two—that will put you out of reach of this bunch of thugs."

Sara could have sworn no one had taken a breath.

Gregory wiped a hand across his face before he continued. "Sad to say, killing a bunch of illegal immigrants usually causes little notice. When the helicopter showed up, shooting at your boat, it was like an epicenter of an earthquake, shaking every agency from locals to the FBI. That doesn't happen in smuggling, so we've been scrambling—trying to piece together the why—and before that—the 'what happened to cause this'."

The evidence was slowly coming together, he related, as he told of a complicated human smuggling network. "But this is personal—no one cares who pays the money—just gets them to the docks or to a waiting boat where they can be brought to land and no one notices. The two older women who claimed to be the baby's grandmother and aunt are probably not related to the woman you pulled from the water. They knew her from the ship—they knew she was a special passenger. The name they gave as the baby's father—he's their nephew and had paid for both women to come to the States. In their mind, claiming kinship to the dead woman was going to help them stay here."

He nodded at the baby in Sara's arms, saying, "I don't think anyone is looking for her—we can't find out anything about her mother. She's well nourished, spent money on herself—identification that belonged to her led us to a street address in south LA where no one claimed to know who she was."

When Special Agent Gregory stopped talking, the silence in the room was broken only by the collective sounds of breathing. It seemed everyone had taken a silent step forward so they were huddled around Gregory, Sara, and Grissom.

Continuing, he said, "We haven't found the helicopter—but we will. Right now, half-a-dozen agencies are going over that ship with magnifying glasses and interviewing every person that—that took a leak on it. Our theory is—they think you can identify something—the helicopter was sent out after people were thrown off the ship."

Grissom said, "Maybe it's as simple as being a witness—we were there, we saw the bodies, we saw the ship."

A cell phone pinged with an incoming message; Agent Gregory's hand reached into his jacket, brought out his phone, and read the message. He said, "Our suspected gunman has been caught—and he's dead. A patrolman for the highway patrol spotted the motorcycle north of Malibu, followed, and the rider either spotted him or decided to put some miles behind him. An old van pulled onto the highway and the motorcycle left the road, hit a barrier and plunged into a ravine."

"It doesn't end with him," Sara whispered.

The FBI agent nodded his head, agreeing. "I can get you out of town by tonight."

 _A/N: And a special thanks to readers who review, leave a comment, encourage us in so many ways!_


	21. Chapter 21

_**A/N: Thanks so much for reading!**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 21**

 _After all that we've been through…It all comes down to me and you…_

In those pre-awakening seconds, Sara Sidle's senses told her she wasn't in her bed—or any bed she'd recently slept in. The sheets were silky and smelled faintly of lavender; the pillows were cloud-like soft and the bed was definitely expensive form-shaping foam that felt like a plush nest around her body. A fast recollection of events flooded her brain causing her to throw back the cream-colored duvet as her feet touched the floor.

Only then did she hear the soft hum from across the quiet room.

As she walked to the source of the sound, her feet pressed into lush, undoubtedly pricey carpet. Smiling, she thought 'Not your ordinary hotel room' before she quietly asked:

"How are you two doing? Did you sleep? What time is it?"

Gil Grissom, feeling amazingly rested, immediately felt a warmth grow from his chest to his groin as he watched his wife cross the floor; her long graceful legs striding in his direction with an extremely appealing appearance on her face. He returned her smile, saying, "You needed to sleep—we are fine. I slept—so did this one and it's almost noon." Cradled in the crook of his arm was a sleeping baby.

Sara dropped to her knees, her hand going to the infant's head covered in a soft knit cap. She asked, "Isn't she beautiful?" Her brow wrinkled, "Do you think our own could possibly be this beautiful?" Softly, she laughed before sighing, "What happens next?"

"Your appointment—we need to—to know about you." His hand caressed her face and she tilted her head so she met his kiss.

In silence, he moved so she could join him in the over-sized chair and affection and desire warmed both; after several minutes of increasingly passionate kissing, Sara pulled away. With a soft giggle, she said, "I hate to say this, but we are not having sex on the day I go see my doctor—and I am pretty turned on by the way you handle a baby."

Grissom grunted and shifted in the chair. "Sorry about that—I get turned on watching my beautiful wife walk across the floor." He kissed her again. "I think this little one might be out for a while—and we can eat."

Sara wiggled her hip against his and snuggled her knee against his thigh and laughed. "Food before sex—have we passed the honeymoon period already?"

Kissing her again, Grissom said, "No, honeymoon isn't over—it has just started." He laughed, "We're on a detour. Jim is sending someone up to help with Shui—I told him we had an appointment and didn't explain."

Taking the baby, Sara settled Shui into the small white bed provided by the hotel while Grissom called room service. Sara crawled back into bed, pulling covers over her bare legs and arranging pillows so she could see the baby.

Around midnight, they had landed at the air force base north of Las Vegas in a FBI jet. When the airsteps opened, Jim Brass and Catherine Willows seemed to materialize from the darkness. Until that moment, Sara would admit to mounting frustration from the moment the FBI had stated with no debate that the Grissoms needed to leave their home.

Any discussion had happened while she had fed Shui, gathered clothing, packed two suitcases and all baby-care supplies in the house; then a fast ride to the airport in Santa Monica. She was running on adrenaline until she collapsed into a bed several hours later. Catherine and Jim knew what had happened because Catherine had not asked a thousand questions. And neither expressed surprise at their arrival with a newborn baby.

They had driven to the parking garage of the casino resort where Catherine was a majority owner and, by a dedicated elevator, taken to one of the exclusive penthouses on the top floor. Sara had barely noticed her surroundings as she'd cared for Shui while others discussed their situation.

As she snuggled back into the still warm spot in bed, she laughed. Catherine could handle whatever was thrown at her and never miss a step—while wearing heels. They had a newborn, needed a secluded hiding place, and somehow—Sara knew Catherine welded power—they had ended up in Vegas, not on a remote military base, in a penthouse suite.

And for the first time in her short life, Shui had a real baby bed with see-thru sides and a bright butterfly attached to the rail. And a stack of new clothes.

Sara leaned into the pillows, silently laughing again at Catherine's ability to purchase a dozen baby gowns and body suits, caps and socks, and add a butterfly to the cradle in the middle of the night—all accomplished in a few hours.

Grissom appeared in the door, saying, "Breakfast and lunch ordered—salads and two omelets arriving in fifteen-twenty minutes."

When Sara moved to get out of bed, he raised his hand. "Stay there if you want. We can eat in bed—or out here."

She got out of bed, saying, "Quick shower before eating."

"Over there," he said, pointing to a set of doors. Following her, Grissom stood in the doorway as her mouth opened in awe at the bathroom.

"I don't remember this from last night!"

He laughed. "You used the one in the other room. I found this one early this morning."

She walked in, pulling her shirt over her head and stepping out of her short pants. "This is an experience!" After experimenting with a set of handles, she adjusted water and walked into the shower.

It wasn't just a shower but a curved tile walk under a set of adjustable shower heads; the shower actually surrounded a round free-standing soaking tub. A variety of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash bottles had been placed in built-in shelves.

"How many people could stand in this thing?" Sara said, laughing as she tried two body washes before deciding on one to use.

Grissom, holding a towel, waited for her to exit. "You look darn sexy in there," he said, making a quiet growl when she stepped into his embrace as he wrapped the towel around her.

"How did you convince the FBI to put us here instead of the base?"

Wrapping another towel around her head, he explained what she had not heard. "Only dorm space available and once I heard that, I pretty much insisted on another plan. Called Catherine and she said she could provide the perfect place." He chuckled, saying, "You know Catherine—she doesn't take 'no'—and after she said she'd provide security, I think the FBI gave in."

A bell chimed.

"Our food—in bed or in the other room? There's a pretty nice view when I opened the curtains."

"Let me dress and we'll eat in the—the—what's it called? This place is the size of a house!"

By the time Sara dressed and entered the living area, she knew who had arrived with food.

Jim Brass was placing plates of food on the round table in the dining area and greeted her with, "Good morning, sleepy head!" Pointing to Grissom standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows, he said, "FBI guys." He pulled a chair out, indicating it was for her.

The windows did have a magnificent view of Las Vegas.

After a few minutes of filling plates and pouring beverages, Jim said, "You two have had a lot of excitement since getting married—what—three weeks ago?" He chuckled, saying, "And a baby! Are you going to keep her?"

Sara contorted her face into a quick grimace. "Probably not—we haven't looked into it because we thought she had family. Now, she doesn't. We'd like to—oh, Jim—it gets complicated."

Brass placed his fork on his plate and carefully studied Sara for a long moment. "Are you pregnant?" Her old friend had suddenly realized she was radiant and not all the glow was the result of a recent shower. "What? You think I can't make a guess?" He winked, "My lips are sealed—does he know?"

Sara nodded. "I'm going to the doctor this afternoon."

"Ahh—the appointment. I'll be up with Celeste—she's good—excellent as a sitter. Been doing this for years."

Grissom arrived at the table, cell phone in hand. "Good news," he said. "I guess its good news. We know what was in the freighter—not just smuggling people but smuggling guns! Lots of guns."

"Has anyone been arrested?"

Shaking his head, he filled his plate with the remaining omelet and poured coffee into a cup. "The guy who came after us was a hired hit man—from Vietnam—can you believe? Not even a local! They want us to stay here for a few days—a week, maybe—while they continue looking for the helicopter and wrap up everyone on the ship."

Sara asked, "Any mention of Shui?"

"Nope."

Brass, using his fork to point toward the bedroom, asked, "What's with that name? I mean, what's wrong with Mary or Abby or—or Wendy?"

Sara pointed to Grissom, saying, "Ask him."

"Water—it means water in Chinese," Grissom explained.

"Sounds like you're decorating a room."

Both Grissom and Sara looked puzzled; Sara was the first to catch his wit.

Brass chuckled, saying, "You think I don't know about arranging furniture?"

She said, "Feng shui—you are too funny!" She looked at Grissom, "Maybe we should re-think Shui—that is—if she stays with us."

A couple of hours later, Sara reclined on an examination table after answering dozens of questions, waiting for results from urine and blood tests. The nurse and physician prepped her for a transvaginal ultrasound; the doctor explained the procedure and likely results.

Grissom held her hand.

With her feet in padded boots, the exam table had been reclined; at least the 'boots' were an improvement, Sara thought.

A minute later, her physician said, "Well, you're developing a very positive Chadwicks sign. You cervix is already turning blue."

Grissom squeezed her hand.

Several more minutes passed as the doctor watched the ultrasound screen. Suddenly smiling, she said, "Right there—perfect placement—is a gestational sac! You are pregnant!"

 _A/N: Thank you for staying with us-we appreciate hearing from readers!_


	22. Chapter 22

_**A/N: A new chapter with a bit of sweet smut!**_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 22**

 _When love is truly right…it lives from year to year. It changes as it goes…Oh, and on the way it grows…_

Sara was so exhausted she had to use her hand to prop her head as she stirred a bowl of steaming soup in front of her.

After hours at the physician's office, fatigue had dulled her ability to think, to eat, to even participate in conversation. She had an appointment with an ob-gyn group in LA who specialized in high-risk pregnancies. Her long-time doctor had been overly kind and concerned; the nurse had carefully explained the pregnancy routine, the testing, the risks for a forty-four year old woman. Both physician and nurse had stressed she could do whatever she felt like doing—she wanted to sleep.

In the meantime, her husband was practically dancing across the floor with a baby in his arms describing details of the past week to Jim Brass and Catherine Willows. She wondered where he got his exuberant energy.

None of the three seemed to notice her drooping eyelids. She finished most of the soup and bread, nibbled around a salad, and took an apple from the bowl of fruit. Food, she thought, seemed to follow Jim Brass around.

"I'll put Shui to bed," Sara said as she got up from the table.

Brass stood as she did, saying, "We need to leave. You two have had a big day—an exhausting week." He put his arms around Sara. "Sleep—I'll get Celeste to come tomorrow—all day. She's great with this little sweet pea."

"Thank you, Jim."

Catherine was next with a bear hug, saying, "I can't believe you two have a baby—and got involved in smuggling humans and guns!"

Sara returned the hug, saying, "Thank you, Catherine for everything—all this and for all the things for little Shui." She laughed. "Jim says we need to give her another name."

Jim chuckled.

Grissom moved to Sara's side, pulling her into a one-arm hug. Glancing at each other, their gaze moved to the infant at the same moment. Sara's finger gently touched the newborn's face.

Catherine stepped back, surprised at the scene occurring before her. She had known Gil Grissom for more than twenty years; never seen him in the position of father—yet the joy and amazement in his eyes revealed an attachment that dumbfounded her. Her eyes went to Sara and found the same expression. They were happy; they were a family.

She glanced at Brass who slightly shrugged his shoulders as he smiled.

"You need to keep her!"

Catherine's words caused their faces to change, replaced by worry, concern, hesitation; she immediately regretted breaking the moment. She said, "You should! You'd be great parents!"

Sara's lips formed a tight line.

Grissom's hand squeezed her shoulder. He said, "Several years ago, we checked out adoption and were told I was too old." His hand caressed Sara's arm as he kissed her forehead before he grinned. "Right now, Shui's status seems to be up in the air and we have her—so—so maybe she'll be our first one of—of a dozen!"

Catherine laughed, relieved at Grissom's ability to find humor in the circumstances; much later, she realized Grissom had said "first one".

Four hours later, Sara decided she no longer needed a watch or a clock. Feeding and changing Shui occurred with the precision of an expensive timepiece. By the time she had the whimpering baby in her arms, Grissom was up and headed to the kitchen.

In a short time, the baby had been fed, changed, and settled back into her bed; as Sara crawled back into the king size bed, Grissom came into the bedroom with two glasses of juice and a hand filled with strawberries.

Sara took one of the glasses and a strawberry, asking, "Where does all of this food come from? Every time I'm hungry, there's food in the refrigerator!"

Grissom motioned her to move to the center of the bed, saying, "I'll get up with her so you can sleep." He handed her a couple of berries. "You need to get your rest." Settling beside her, they ate the fruit and downed the juice in comfortable silence. He took three green stems from her hand and put them on the bedside table. Turning, he pulled her into his arms. "I think the food arrives by magic," he chuckled. "And came from a list of food I gave Jim. He's the provider."

Putting aside thoughts of tomorrow and the next feeding for Shui, Sara slid into his arms. "I don't want to talk about food. You heard the doctor today—sex makes for a happy pregnancy," she whispered as she moved to drape a leg over his thigh, placing her knee gently against his groin, and kissed his shoulder.

It took no second request for him to accept her quiet invitation.

With one smooth stroke, he pulled her night shirt over her head, catching her breasts in his hands. The sound he made was a groan of pleasure as his fingers skimmed lightly over her; she was all soft skin, warm, erotic to his touch. He did not want to think about the long days since their last physical intimacy.

He did not want to rush but Sara's eagerness as she moved under him, hips arching, hands touching with quick kisses and scrapes of her nails aroused him beyond belief. Their fingers linked then broke apart to explore as waves of pleasure flooded senses.

An act of love, generous, selfless, and sweet. A promise; a dream as they sank into the soft bed as lovers in a pool. She knew the beauty of the moment was knowing, after all this time, that he would be there. When her lips pressed against his chest, against his heart, his responsiveness soared.

He kissed her slowly, deeply, exploring her mouth until she groaned with pleasure. Moving to her breasts, he covered them with light, half-open kisses, touching her nipples with fleeting strokes of his tongue. Silently, he coaxed her as if she were not already flushed and trembling with desire.

He smiled against her breast, pulling the tight nipple into his mouth, as her hand moved his to the damp tangle of curls between her legs. She was always familiar yet surprisingly aroused by his touch.

Time seemed to stop as she felt his fingers delicately part her folds, grazing over the dampness of her sex. His caresses were gossamer light as he stroked her with delicate insistence until she cried out, her hips jerking, rising to his movements.

No one else had ever unlocked him the way she did. He felt her rise; he heard her moan merge with his as she warmed and heated to a passionate crest; slowly, gently, he slipped inside her, pulled out, and then buried himself deeply in her. Her rhythmic waves drew him in, squeezed his sensitive erection like a soothing pump, and patience was lost.

"I will never get enough of you," he whispered.

He felt her tighten around him, her legs gripped him; her arms wrapped him close. His mouth closed over hers as she reached peak desire. A muffled exclamation, the word "love" and his name, caused him to shudder.

Driving himself deeply into her, he became, for a moment, a part of her.

It was some time later, neither had slept, when Grissom asked if she needed anything.

He heard a quiet laugh as Sara snuggled even closer. She said, "I've got all I need."

"Can you sleep?" At one time, Grissom knew sleep was not always easily accomplished for her.

"I can but I'm thinking about that crazy shower—both of us in it," she giggled again. "I think my body rhythm has changed—I'm tired but not worried about it. I—I'm more worried about what will happen to Shui."

Grissom chuckled, "I think Jim is right—we need to give her another name."

"No doubt she'll get a new name when…"

Rolling to face her, his hand moved to caress her face. He said, "I think we need to apply for adoption—if necessary, get the FBI involved. Just kidding—even if we go through all the hoops for foster parents, we should try. If it weren't for us, she wouldn't be alive—and it might not be as difficult in California as in Nevada."

"Oh, Gil—do you think so?" Her voice lifted, revealing a happiness he had not heard in a while. "Even with having another—do you think we could? At least try? We can handle two!"

"Let's get in that fancy shower." He laughed as he folded back bedcovers. "We might not sleep for a year—or two—but we'd have fun. Two little Grissoms running around." He extended his hand to hers as she got out of bed.

They giggled like teenagers as they turned lights on and twisted handles to discover the various sprays of the curved shower. A misty rain, a gentle flow, or a torrential downpour from an overhead track, sprays at shoulder height, at hip level, and geysers shooting from the floor provided amusement until they figured out what worked. They continued laughing as they poured body wash over each other, lathered in a mass of bubbling foam, and played as lovers in the massive shower.

When they were squeaky clean, fingertips wrinkled like prunes, they used thick, plush towels to dry each other which, for some reason, Sara found to be amusing as she stroked her husband with light touches.

As she gently patted his back, he said, "I'm not a tender baby—you don't have to be so delicate!"

Laughing, she tapped his butt with her palm, saying, "Watch it, dear, or I'll roll you up like a burrito."

He turned on her, wrapping both of them in a huge towel which resulted in heat-generated, passionate kisses for several minutes.

With a chuckle, Grissom teased, "I think we're having a honeymoon." He wiggled his hips against Sara's, adding, "Except we have a week old baby in the next room."

"Who will wake up in about two hours."

He laughed again, nuzzling his lips along her neck. "God, woman, you are amazing." He pressed his growing erection against her belly.

"Oh," she whispered and then giggled. "Now we know why there's a bench…"

"Bed, no bench," came his hoarse reply. As they hurried, he teased her, asking, "Haven't you had enough for one day?"

"I can't sleep now—I've gotten my second wind."

For some reason, that made him laugh.

Once in bed, his mouth was soft and hot as it descended to her skin, searching, nuzzling, finding places of sensation along the side of her ribs, the undercurve of her breast, the delicate rim of her navel. When she tried to caress him, her hands were gently pushed to her sides until she understood he meant for her to lie still. Gradually, her breaths grew rapid, her stomach and legs quivered as pleasure chased over her body.

Grissom nibbled and kissed his way to the dampness between her thighs; her legs spread easily at his touch. Every nerve, every cell sizzled with aching desire. As his tongue touched her, bolts of passion ran along her spine with every stroke. His tongue danced, tickled and opened her before he settled into a sweet rhythmic teasing; her breath came in ragged moans.

When he knew from her shudders she had almost reached her climax, he moved quickly, above her, driving into her as her body clenched around him in throbbing contractions. Within seconds, her orgasm burst, pulling his climax from him until a deep growl came from his throat.

A while later, he whispered, "I need another shower."

"I have no energy—I can't move."

She felt him leave the bed, unaware of how long he was gone until she felt a warm, damp cloth wiping along her body. "You are a treasure, Gil Grissom."

He kissed her thigh before reaching for her hand. "A night shirt," he said, slipping the shirt over her head before tucking himself beside her.

"I think I might sleep for a while," she said, a deep sigh followed. "I love having sex with you."

Wrapping arms around her so his chest met her back, legs entwined, he said, "That little girl is going to wake up hungry—I'll take care of her." Sara felt his chuckle as he said, "Jim is right—she needs another name."

"And what name are you going to give Shui?"

Grissom gently cupped her left breast as he kissed the back of her neck. He said, "I think 'Butterfly' would be perfect."

 _ **A/N:** Thanks for reading-hope to hear from you! _


	23. Chapter 23

_A/N: Thanks for staying with our story! We appreciate hearing from you!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 23**

 _I still remember when your kiss was so brand new…Every memory repeats…_ _  
_ _Every step I take retreats…Every journey always brings me back to you._

Everett Thomas parked his car in the small public lot and stepped out of the car. He took a long deep breath of salt-tinged air, removed his jacket and tie, leaving them on the seat, and then made his way along a canal path lined with some of the most unique houses in the area. He knew the way but took his time, noticing several changes that had happened since the last time he had walked this graveled path.

Flowers were in abundance; the day was fine and the sky was blue. Water in the canal was placidly calm. He thought it was a great place to live.

For weeks, he had stonewalled, giving vague answers to questions, but today, it was with relief he made this visit to the Grissom's home. He smiled to himself as he thought of the couple he'd met four months earlier when other agents had returned from one of the most bizarre events of his career.

It had been a week later when he had meet Sara and Gil Grissom and by then he'd known more about the couple than they knew about themselves. That they had a baby added to his plan of getting them out of danger; otherwise, he knew it would have been difficult to convince them to leave LA.

No one knew, on the day the Grissom's pulled a dying woman out of the ocean, that it would lead to one of the most involved inter-agency investigations in the history of multiple agencies working together. And now, he could tell the couple who had been involved from the beginning what had happened.

Crossing a foot bridge, he could see the Grissom's home. Fresh paint, he thought, along with a new awning covering the top deck; and new plants between the house and the canal. Smiling, he saw the figure working in the flower bed.

Not for the first time, he wished he had gotten Sara Sidle into the FBI before she had gone to Vegas. She was clad in shorts and a white tee shirt with her dark hair pulled into a pony tail and appeared ten years younger than her age.

Before she noticed him, he called her name, "Sara!" When she stood, Thomas, as father of five, immediately noticed her belly bump; he smiled at his ability to determine a pregnancy passed the first trimester.

The broad, welcoming smile he got caused him to increase his pace. "Hello! Good morning!" He raised his hand as Sara stepped to the path holding bright-colored flowers in her hand.

Greeting him as a friend, she said, "Everett! It's great to see you—and a personal visit instead of a phone call. Does that mean you have good news?"

"Yes." He took her hand after she pocketed the garden shears and extended it. "It is good news—I wanted to deliver in person."

They made their way onto the lower deck; he noticed more changes. The deck had a new gate; the small green area was cleared of thick shrubs and replanted with flowers and vegetable plants.

"Looks like you've been busy," he said motioning to the new plants.

"We have—no boat so we've worked here."

The FBI agent chuckled. "You should hear from the Coast Guard any day about your boat."

The door to the house opened and Gil Grissom stepped out, smiling as he said, "Did I hear something about a boat?"

The two men shook hands; then Grissom indicated chairs on the deck. "It's nice out here—we can enjoy fresh air."

Everyone knew this was not a social visit yet Sara offered coffee or water, quickly turned down by the federal agent.

Sara went inside to put the flowers in water, returning a few minutes later with a cooing baby.

Everett Thomas got to his feet, smiling, arms outstretched to the baby. "She is growing so fast! What—four months old, right?"

The baby gave the stranger a curious look then ducked her head against Sara's neck, a finger going into her mouth.

"He's harmless," Sara said with a laugh before adding, "most of the time." She sat across from the two men and pulled out a ring of colorful keys for the baby.

"Our kids had those! At one time, we had every baby toy in the store—and they loved to play with pots and pans and plastic bowls." Settling into the chair, he asked, "And everything worked out?"

Grissom answered, "We are grateful for all you did…"

Agent Thomas waved a hand in dismissal, saying, "She was yours from her birth—I'm happy it worked out."

The baby wiggled around to face the two men; both made faces at the same time. A bubbling coo came from the infant and her arms reached in the direction of Grissom. Once in his lap, she played a bashful and coy game for a few minutes before deciding her fingers in her dad's beard were entertaining—at least for now.

After spending a few minutes talking about babies, Everett Thomas came to the reason for his visit.

"We've broken the smuggling operation."

With those words, Sara exhaled a long breath; Grissom lifted the baby over his head with an exclamation of "Whew!" that became a low whistle. "Over? Tell us more!"

Thomas abbreviated the story as much as possible, pausing his narrative when eyebrows raised or a sound indicated a question. Once he stopped while Sara went inside to get a bottle for the baby and she returned with a couple of cold beers. This time, he didn't refuse her offer.

Over two thousand assault weapons with a street value in the millions had been found on the freighter. Manufactured in China, headed to street gangs from Canada to Mexico, the FBI, ICE, ATF, along with state agencies, had worked with two undercover customs agents who served as contacts to the smugglers with a 'pay for play' deal so the weapons could be 'recovered'.

"The helicopter that was used to shoot at you that day had been sent to check on the freighter—the captain was stalling, had called saying the ship wasn't ready to dock. The gun smugglers had no idea the captain was smuggling people on the ship—the captain was greedy. He was getting five thousand per person.

"They shot at you because you were there—disrupting their gun smuggling—and came after you thinking you'd seen something—that you knew something. Once we put out word that you two were unlucky day sailors, wrong place, wrong time, you were no longer in physical danger."

Sara broke in saying, "When you said it was okay for us to return…"

"Yes—that was the beginning. Once they had taken that as fact, the undercover guys went to work. It was like a good spy novel—money hidden under potted plants, guns hidden in suitcases, midnight meetings in parking lots. A week ago, all of it came together—shipping containers in a warehouse, a dozen Mafia looking guys arriving in blacked-out SUVs and the two undercover guys waiting for them wearing nothing but beach shorts and white tee-shirts."

Grissom and Sara were leaning toward him, engrossed in his story.

Grissom asked, "How many? How many of the bad guys did you get?"

"Thirty-two—certain jail or deportation. The two undercover guys have been relocated. We haven't stopped all of it, but, at least for a while, this bunch is out of the business."

The three talked for a while longer about the case and gradually turned to other topics currently in the news. Everett Thomas finished the beer and stood, thanking the couple for their warm kindness.

As he shook hands with Sara, he said, "I wish you much happiness—enjoy this time."

Sara softly laughed. She said, "You noticed when I stood up but didn't say anything."

"My wife has had four pregnancies—the last time we had twins."

"How old are they?"

"The twins are ten—two girls—Emma and Erin."

Sara's hand dropped to her belly. She smiled, slowly nodding her head. "You're the first to know—we—we are having twins—boys."

He left them, standing on the path, waving. As he crossed the footbridge, he turned back and smiled. Grissom was kissing Sara; as a long-married man in love with his wife, Thomas knew how a husband kissed the woman he loved.

 _A/N: Again, thanks for reading! Leave us a few words of encouragement! A few more chapters to come!_


	24. Chapter 24

_**A/N:** A long chapter just for your long weekend! Enjoy!_

 **After All**

 **Chapter 24**

"How do I look?"

Gil Grissom lifted his head and smiled. "Good—great—you look great."

"Jim is on his way."

Grissom nodded and continued collecting their baggage as it appeared on the carousel. Two large suitcases and an infant car seat joined the carry-on bags at their feet. Glancing at Sara as she balanced a baby on her shoulder with one hand and shifted a small tote to her free shoulder, he tried to figure out why she was suddenly concerned about her looks—she was beautiful.

When she reached for one of the suitcases, he said, "I got both—and you do look great—beautiful—as always." Grissom smiled and kissed her cheek before he managed to hitch the two smaller bags on a shoulder and clip the infant seat to a suitcase. When he glanced at Sara, she smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"I—I don't want to…" shaking her head, she struggled a moment with words. "This is Greg and Morgan's weekend—I don't want everyone looking at me like I'm...overweight!"

"They won't—the bride is always in the spotlight." He managed to take her arm with a free hand, saying, "And you look beautiful. What's in all these bags?"

A deep sigh followed by a quiet laugh and she said, "It takes a lot!"

Chuckling, he led the way to the exit where they waited a few minutes until a black SUV pulled to the curb. The wheels had barely stopped moving when Jim Brass hopped out.

"Look at you! At all of you!" He gave Sara a kiss and twisted his head so he could see the baby. "How's little Buttercup—or whatever name you call her now! Hey, Gil—looks like you brought all your worldly goods."

Grissom gave him a smirking look and tossed bags in the back of the vehicle; then he clipped the infant seat into the back seat and took the baby from Sara.

"Okay—okay—what's all the secrecy with Butterfly's name? And you look radiant, dear."

"Is it obvious?" Sara asked.

"To me, yes. My lips have been sealed—and I understand—but what's with the kiddo's name?"

He helped her into the back seat while Grissom came around and crawled into the front passenger seat. Once settled and headed away from the airport, Sara said:

"She does have a new name—and once we get to Catherine's place, we will announce. We wanted it to be a surprise!"

The three friends managed to cover a dozen topics, the major subject being recent changes in the lab, before the vehicle pulled into the driveway of Catherine Willow's house. Mansion, Sara thought, as the gate opened; the new position paid well.

Catherine's home had belonged to her father, Sam Braun, and after years of avoiding moving into the house, she had finally relented and had turned it into a Vegas show place of subdued wealth. At last, Catherine Willows had claimed her heritage; she was officially Chief Executive Officer of SAB Enterprise—casinos and resorts—bringing an end to her public service career.

Only two cars were parked in the gravel driveway and Sara was certain these belonged to hired help. Not one rock was in the verge of grass; not a weed grew in the border beds of cacti, aloe, and other desert loving plants.

The front door opened—doors large enough to drive a Mercedes sedan through—and Catherine appeared before anyone got out of the SUV. By some magnetic attraction, she headed for the door behind Brass.

"Oh! She's beautiful!" Catherine whispered as she leaned toward the infant, her fingers fiddled with the harness until Sara reached over and released the catch. "And she's yours! She's adorable, Sara!"

"She's ours—sixty days after her birth. And she is adorable—and a good baby."

Catherine lifted the sleeping baby from the car seat, inhaling deeply as she brought the baby near her face. "You never forget that smell—it's embedded in our brains, I think." Snuggling her face against the baby, she asked, "What's her name? Don't tell me you let him name her after a bug!"

Sara climbed out of the vehicle as a man in a white jacket unloaded luggage; Jim and Grissom were already walking toward the house. Carefully, she straightened her top and pulled her small bag across her abdomen.

Catherine came around, holding the baby, and softly talking in the way most women do to an infant while they walked into the house. And, as Sara had expected, the house and its furnishings created a sense of peaceful calm, subdued colors, and nature—if nature had a floral decorator. Tall palms towered over pale blue and pink flowers and dark wood floors. Everything else was white.

Hugs and greetings moved the group into a less formal area near the kitchen where a woman in a gray uniform placed drinks and platters of snacks on a bar.

When Sara asked for bathroom directions, Catherine pointed to a glass-enclosed wine room under the stairs, saying, "Next to the wine—the wooden door."

Returning, she found the men holding glasses of an amber liquid and Catherine cooing over the sleeping baby.

"Okay—when do we learn her new name? Or can we call her Doodle Bug?" Catherine said with a laugh. "She is perfect—look at those lashes!"

Sara had prepared for this moment. Grissom's hand slid across his face in an attempt to hide his laugh as she pulled a folded paper from her bag. She said, "We wanted to see your face…" she handed the now-unfolded paper to Catherine, "when you read this."

A baffled look on Catherine's face quickly turned to surprise as she read the official certificate of birth. Her mouth opened, speechless for a moment, until she said, "Catherine Elizabeth!"

Sara and Grissom smiled as Sara said, "Catherine, meet Cate!"

"You named her after me?" Catherine's amazed voice softened as she hugged the baby closer. "Really? Catherine Elizabeth—Gil's mother and me?" Incredulously saying again, "Catherine Elizabeth! I can't believe this!"

Grissom nodded to Sara saying, "Sara selected the name."

"You did?" Catherine look at Sara, surprise on her face.

"I did. You have played an important role in both our lives—because of you—and Lindsay played a part—I went to Gil. When we knew we'd be her parents, we decided we could—could show how much we've always appreciated—and love you."

Catherine hugged the infant again. "She is even more adorable! I'm so surprised," she laughed. "I don't think anything has surprised me this much in a long time."

"Well," Grissom said with a soft chuckle, "we have another surprise that might match this one." Placing his glass on the table, he indicated he would take the baby; Catherine passed her to Grissom, puzzled by his words.

After settling back in his chair, he grinned, saying, "Sara's pregnant."

Catherine's head whipped around to Sara; her eyes wide, mouth open. "What!" Her eyes went to Sara's abdomen.

Sara nodded, spreading her hand across her belly.

Grissom added, "We are having babies—twins—boys."

Catherine's head twisted back to Grissom. "Sara's pregnant—with twins—boys?" Her mouth hung open as she stared at him. Spinning back to Sara, she said, "Pregnant? How old are you—early forties?" Then turning back to Grissom, she made a soft gasping sound. "I know how old you are!"

Whipping her head back to Sara, Catherine's mouth opened, closed, opened again before she asked, "Are you okay? Are—are the babies…"

Jim Brass' deep chuckle grew louder as Catherine's head appeared to be attached to strings jerking her head side-to-side. While he had known Sara was pregnant, the announcement of twins had caught him off-guard and set off a highly amusing reaction.

As he laughed, he mumbled, "Please, God, let me live another twenty years."

Grissom heard the comment; his mouth twisted into a facetious grin at his long-time friend's comment. He said, "With age comes," he paused, "wisdom—and less sleep."

Brass wiped a hand across his face as he said, "I may need to move to LA."

Catherine erupted with, "You two have just adopted a baby—and you're having twins—when?"

"Four months," Sara said. "I've had all the tests that can be done…"

Catherine's eyes widened again; her mouth dropped open, again. "You are five months pregnant with twins!" Quickly, she calculated and then said, "When did you get pregnant? The first night? You've been gone—five months!"

Grissom interrupted, saying, "The first week we were back together—sort of surprised both of us." With a satisfied, proud grin, he leaned back. "We were—prolifically fertile."

The genuine guffaw that came from Brass caused Sara to throw a small pillow in his direction.

Eventually, Catherine recovered enough to lead her guests through her house and to the guest suite; 'big mansion' Sara thought when they were shown a sitting room and a bedroom with a balcony overlooking the pool. The man wearing the white jacket had already placed their formal attire in the closet and unpacked baby things next to a crib.

Later, they dressed in casual clothes, loaded into Catherine's car, leaving baby Cate with Celeste who had carried for her during their previous visit, and headed to the pre-wedding party for Morgan Brody and Greg Sanders.

This was the very public pageant paid for by the sheriff. Conrad Ecklie loved pomp, evidenced by two live bands, the excessive food and drink available, and all the local dignitaries posing like flowers in arrangements with the Sheriff.

Watching all of it, Sara realized she had worried without reason; Ecklie was the center of this circus. Hoping the wedding would have a different atmosphere, she and Grissom searched for the prospective bride and groom. Finding the couple in a far corner, enjoying a much smaller celebration within the gargantuan party, they were welcomed into the circle.

The bride-to-be was soon in demand for photographs and dancing, leaving Greg with others.

The beginning of a song caused Sara to grab his hand, saying, "Come on, groom, you and I can dance!"

Grissom watched; the music was not in his repertoire but he enjoyed watching the couples on the dance floor and smiled as Sara held her own with Greg's moves. As the two left the floor, he observed the moment when Sara whispered in Greg's ear and knew what she'd told him. Surprised at the young man's obvious joy, he accepted congratulations and the subsequent teasing banter directed at him by Greg, Nick Stokes, and others in the small group of friends.

A few minutes later, the nearest band began playing notes of an electronic-edged Latin song; most of the dancers left the floor but Grissom turned to Sara.

"Let's show these youngsters how to dance."

Sara stood and took his hand; her face wreathed in a smile.

Laughing, Henry asked, "You can tango?"

Grissom pointed an index finger in his direction, saying, "Learn a real dance!"

"So can we!" David Phillips stood and headed to the dance floor with his wife.

The group watched in amazement as the man who had been their supervisor for many years and the woman who'd been their colleague easily carried out a walking embrace of dance. David Phillips and his wife were more correct in their steps, but, everyone watching saw the light touch, the subtle exchange of understanding of each move, the trust between two people, and an ongoing love affair as the Grissom's danced.

After a tango, there was only one way to end a night.

Behind closed doors in Catherine's guest suite, eyes burned bright; smiles lifted corners of lips.

"You barely talked to me tonight," Sara whispered, a feigned pout on her face.

"I was afraid to."

"Why?"

"Because I wanted to make you the next course of dinner."

Sara eased into his arms as his hand slid the length of her spine. His mouth brushed the curve of her shoulder. Her fingers threaded into his curly hair. Slowly, they explored the other with lips and fingertips; kissing until each knew it was not enough.

"Shower," Sara whispered.

"Are you sure?"

"There's a bench."

"Ahhh…" A smile curved his lips.

Moving slowly, their touches, their kisses became deeper, more pleasurable. Moving to her breasts, Grissom covered them with light kisses, thinking pregnancy had definitely increased their size.

Quickly, they set the shower to a soothing rainfall, discarded clothing, and continued their tantalizing touches, gossamer light, delicate strokes, until he pulled her to his lap and buried his face between her breasts whispering endearments against her soft skin. His hands cradled her butt as he entered her slowly; a welcomed intimate invasion of utter tenderness. Every movement drew pleasure until Sara sensed the approaching climax. Before the waves of orgasm slowed, her husband made a quiet, deep growl as his own climax exploded.

Early the next afternoon, a much smaller group gathered in the botanical gardens at The Springs Preserve for a sunny wedding ceremony underneath the garden arbor. Pink and gray colors decorated chairs and tables, and circled containers of desert cacti and succulents.

Catherine had taken charge of the youngest guest, introducing baby Cate to everyone, enjoying the surprised expressions, the adoring words to the bubbling giggles of the baby girl.

Wearing a soft slate gray dress with a high, gathered waistline, several shades lighter than the groom's tux, Sara walked in with Greg, serving as his 'best woman'. Morgan had three friends wearing pink standing with her. This was an intimate wedding; fifty guests showed no surprise that Greg had chosen Sara instead of a best man and, when she handed him the ring, he gave her a hug that brought surprising moisture to more than one eye in the audience of friends.

Seated in the third row of chairs, Gil Grissom, not for the first time, felt a wave of overpowering love as he watched the ceremony; he realized he was not aware of the bride and groom, but his wife as she stood next to the young man who had grown from a wild-haired lab tech to the new director of the crime lab in Las Vegas. Smiling, he thought of last night.

A nudge to his ribs brought him out of his daydream.

"You are such a romantic," said Catherine, handing him a squirming baby whose arms were reaching toward him.

Lifting Cate from Catherine's lap, he jigged her up and down causing her to giggle and flash bright eyes at him. She is a beautiful child, he thought, with her thatch of dark hair, eyes that changed from gold to green in changing light, and thick black lashes. Pulling her close, his hand moved along her back.

Smiling as the baby's head came to rest on his shoulder, he could only think of the grace and goodness of life.

 _A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter! We appreciate hearing from you...one more chapter to this story!_


	25. Chapter 25

_A/N: Bringing this story to a close with this chapter...perhaps a sequel in the future._

 **After All**

 **Chapter 25**

 _After all the stops and starts…we keep coming back to these two hearts. Two angels who've been rescued from the fall. After all that we've been through…it all comes down to me and you…I guess it's meant to be forever you and me._

Gil Grissom could count on two fingers when he had been truly terrified—until today—for the past three weeks, he corrected. He had to fight his gag reflex; even after all those years in an autopsy room, this was different. A wave of dizziness caused him to drop his head, mouthing "Don't—don't…" as his forehead touched Sara's hand.

He did not faint; nor was he actually sick. But a cool hand on his neck brought his head up.

"You okay?" Bending near his ear, her voice a whisper, a nurse had placed a gloved hand on his neck. "We're almost ready—she's fine."

Sara was fine—as fine as one can be minutes before having one's abdomen split open for a C-section. He knew why people prayed in the face of scientific expertise; he'd been praying for hours.

He played off his dizziness by kissing her hand through the mask covering his mouth and nose.

Sara's eyes had been on the monitors near her; now, she turned her eyes to meet his. Her excitement was revealed in her eyes—luminous pools of dark chocolate sparkled with gold around her pupils.

"We're almost there." Her words were smothered by the breathing mask but he thought that was what she said.

He agreed with a nod, thinking how organized she was with everything. Even delivery had been scheduled. The past month had been one of planning, putting every aspect of their lives in order, coordinating with a new nanny—the daughter of their neighbor's housekeeper, and—finally agreeing to Jim's offer to "help out".

Jim Brass had arrived two weeks ago and had, not surprising, taken charge of Cate. Within hours, he was her favorite adult, accomplished by playing on the floor most of the child's waking hours. It was as if she had forgotten her mother and father as long as she could crawl over Jim.

By then, Sara had been on primary bed rest; up to eat, to shower, and then back to bed waiting for the magic of thirty-seven weeks. She had almost made it.

A flurry of activity caused him to look up. Eyes appeared above Sara's tented abdomen.

"We're ready!"

Making himself breathe, his arm went around Sara's head; she smiled and winked but said nothing and three minutes later, the doctor made a soft sound of delight.

"Number one!"

A moment later, a pale, wet infant was gently placed across Sara's chest and immediately began to nuzzle against her skin.

Someone said, "That's a good sign."

He took a breath; the baby appeared perfectly formed. Of course, he knew all the tests had returned normal results, but, seeing the infant lifted a weight from his shoulders. His finger touched the baby's tiny foot.

There was a sound from Sara, garbled so he removed the mask from her face. She whispered, "He's perfect, Gil." Seeing tears in her eyes caused his own vision to blur; he seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

And then a second baby appeared; one nurse removed the first baby and placed the second one on Sara's chest. Grissom's hand slid along the infant's leg to his spine and to the impeccably round head.

For several minutes, he was at a loss for words. The second one was as perfect as the first with a cap of dark curling hair covering his head. Multiple swipes of his eyes did nothing to clear his vision as voices played around the room.

Weights, lengths, scores, oxygen levels, heel pricks—he paid no attention to anyone or anything—he was too engrossed in the overload of emotions coming into his brain. Two babies, two boys; perfectly formed, ten toes, ten fingers, hands, legs, feet, all flawless.

In moments, he felt a transformation, a change in his reality that he could never explain. With Cate, they'd had weeks to develop an attachment but today, it was literally instantly. A part of him had become these two beautiful, squirming, breathing humans. Sara was beaming even as tears rolled from her eyes.

Finally, finding his voice, he choked out, "Perfection—beautiful." Somehow, one of the babies had been placed in his arms. His hand caressed the baby's damp round head as tears rolled down his face.

Jim Brass stayed another two weeks. He cooked, he cleaned, he did laundry, and he smiled for hours when the new parent's named one of their sons after him.

He could not stop his laughter when Sara announced James' brother would be named Gregory.

"You've covered all of us, haven't you?"

Sara tilted her chin, giving him a smug look as she said, "James Nicholas and Gregory Gilbert will be a combination of all the decency and exceptional goodness of four good men!"

When the names were written on the certificates of birth, he beamed, knowing two others who would be delighted and surprised.

Both babies were home in a week's time, breathing, sucking, sleeping, and gaining weight. Three pairs of arms meant all three children had someone available to hold, rock, feed, and change as needed.

More than once, as they sat together, each one holding a baby, one of them made a quiet laugh. Another joined in and within minutes, all three would be laughing at the turns in life.

When he left to return to Vegas, Sara cried even as he promised to return.

 _Three months later_ , Nick Stokes and Gil Grissom sat on a shaded deck and waved as Sara adjusted her sunglasses, giving them a grin and a thumbs up sign. Turning her back on the two men, she grabbed the handle and pushed a long stroller, built for three, in front of her.

"What a woman," Nick said as Sara walked away. "I'm amazed—stunned." He lifted his glass in Grissom's direction, adding, "You look pretty darn good for a man old enough to be their grandfather!"

With a chuckle, Grissom acknowledged the truth, saying, "We are good. Every day is a new adventure. Sara is—Sara is amazing. Jim came up a few weeks ago—brought that stroller to us—I think he may retire again so he can visit more often!" Another chuckle. "He said she was always mothering half the people in the lab so she had plenty of experience!"

Nick laughed and sipped his drink. "Jim is right! Sara played mother hen to those young guys for years! And you were papa bear. Which—brings up Greg! I talk to Greg on a regular basis—he is doing good—he grew up under your guidance—knows what's right—and—and he's settling into being Ecklie's son-in-law."

Both men laughed, shaking heads at the way life worked out.

Several long moments passed as the two men sipped drinks, both watching as Sara crossed the canal bridge; the bright red stroller rolling in advance of her long stride.

"She looks good."

In a low voice, Grissom said, "I've heard women complain about how a baby changes their body—not so with Sara. She's even better—and I don't mean just looks—that's happened too, but she is organized. She is patient—never complains. Never seems to run out of energy."

Nick grinned as he listened to a changed man—changed from the one who had been his supervisor for years. He said, "For a while there, I thought you two would never get together—and now look at this!" His hand waved in a circle. "Miss Betty is smiling down on all of this."

Grissom's face grew solemn as he said, "I wish this had happened years ago—it should have but we can't change time. We are grateful for every day—every hour."

"What's happening with your boat?"

A smile returned. "Leased it for a year to a guy who's in the organization. We've got to get these babies grown—or at least to twenty pounds—before we can safely take them out. Now, I'm doing paperwork—funneling information to the right law enforcement agency." His mouth quirked in a grin. "Much like all the paperwork of a lab supervisor!"

Smiling, Nick reached for his glass. "I'd need more than a year off after what happened out there."

With a shrug, Grissom said, "Most days it is quiet, calm, beautiful—but that day was one hell-of-a-day!"

The two men talked for nearly an hour; an easy conversation that moved from topic to topic until Sara returned.

When they saw her cross the bridge, Grissom stood, saying, "Diaper duty—come on, you can help—your namesake will have a poopy one."

 _After all that we've been through…It all comes down to me and you. I guess it's meant to be…forever you and me…After all._

 ** _A/N: Thank you for reading. Thank you to those who send your comments (as a guest or with your ff name!) Perhaps a sequel in the future. Long live GSR!_**


End file.
